


Get Ready For The Rest Of Your Life

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Coffee is a love language, Deaf Clint Barton, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Superhero Clint Barton, Violence Against Those Who Can't Fight Back, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint had tried hard not to think about what his preparations for his soulmate would look like, if he ever even got close to meeting them, but stockpiling weapons and ammo was pretty much the opposite of what he'd hoped for. What kind of person needs that many kinds of bullets?Meanwhile, the Asset is struggling to stick to his mission parameters when something in him keeps insisting he needs to buy coffee and memorise any dogs he sees.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 322
Kudos: 811
Collections: Charity Hawktion 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Villainny (Nny)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Two Halves of a Whole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654782) by [thekingslover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover). 



> Huge thanks to Dr Girlfriend for the beta, and to Steph for reading it over when I needed reassurance, and to CB for all the cheerleading.
> 
> And special thanks to thekingslover for letting me borrow their version of soulmates.
> 
> All 4 chapters should be posted this week.

The range where Clint worked was unevenly split between guns and archery, with archery losing out, and the attached store was heavily tilted towards firearms as well. He’d had to gently bully the store manager into stocking his favourite fletching supplies when he’d first become an instructor there but it had been more than worth it to be able to use his staff discount on them.

“Just these ones today,” he said to Lizzie behind the counter, setting down his purchases and pulling out his wallet, thinking through just how long it was before payday. “Oh, and a box of .50 BMG bullets.”

Lizzie paused. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” said Clint, not glancing up from counting out the notes in his wallet. 

“Okay,” she said slowly, and put the box of bullets down next to his archery stuff.

Clint paid her and packed it all away in his backpack, and it was only after he’d gotten home and was taking it all out again that he realised he didn’t own a gun. He hadn’t ever owned a gun, and definitely not the kind of rifle that would take .50 BMG rounds. He’d never even fired one.

He stared at the box for a long time, then set it in the middle of his table to be thought about later and picked up his fletching supplies to put away instead.

****

“Mission report.”

The Asset stared over the handler’s shoulder at the blank concrete wall behind him, because the handlers never really liked it when he looked them in the eyes. 

It had been a reconnaissance mission, which meant reporting all his observations until he was told to stop.

“I observed the target for twelve hours. No contact was made and no injuries sustained. I saw six dogs, five on leashes and one that appeared to be stray. They were a golden retriever, a Jack Russell, a mix of at least two breeds, one of which was poodle-”

“What the hell?” asked the handler, looking up from the pad he was taking notes on with a frown, and the Asset obediently stopped. “Why the fuck are you telling me about dogs?” He glanced over at the technician who was hovering near-by. “Is this a glitch he’s had before?”

“Uh,” said the technician, flipping through his chart. “No, nothing about dogs. He should be giving the facts about the mission, starting with the most important.”

The handler glared back at the Asset. “Hear that? Tell me about the important shit.”

“Dogs are important,” said the Asset, and it felt true as he said it but a second later he knew it was wrong. The target was important, the people he associated with and the weapons they had were important, any details about his personal life that could be used as leverage were important. Dogs that hadn’t even belonged to him, but had just passed by on the street below the Asset’s nest, weren’t important.

It had felt like they were though. He’d known he had to memorise each of them to tell someone later.

The handler slapped him, heavy and hard. “Start again,” he snapped. “And don’t mention a single fucking animal.”

The Asset started again.

****

The bar was fairly empty for a Friday night and Clint was starting to consider going to find somewhere busier when he spotted fucking Kyle looming over some redhead who looked about as unimpressed as Clint was. He thought he’d made it clear that Kyle shouldn’t show his face here again.

He made his way over, although it was clear from the glare the redhead was giving Kyle that she didn’t need rescuing.

“Kyle,” he said, slapping a hand against Kyle’s shoulder hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs. “I thought we talked about this.”

“Fuck off,” said Kyle, pulling away and turning to glare at him. “It’s not your fucking bar.”

Clint rolled his eyes at him and glanced at the woman. “Is he being an asshole?”

She snorted and nodded. “You could say that.”

Clint looked back at Kyle. “I don’t have to own the bar to not want assholes in it,” he said. “And you know Luke’s going to agree with me, so why don’t you just fuck off?”

Kyle scowled at him but he knew Clint was right, and he stalked off out of the bar without pushing it any further.

Clint looked back at the woman. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Usually this is a pretty decent place.”

“Right,” she said, not sounding as if she agreed. “And let me guess, you’d like to buy me a drink to apologise for his rude behaviour? And then maybe we’ll get to chatting and you’ll be the one trying to get your hand on my ass. You’re out of luck because, as I told that guy, I buy my own drinks.”

“That’s cool,” said Clint. “I wasn’t going to offer. No offence, but you’re not manly enough to be my type, and I don’t have enough cash to go buying drinks for strangers I don’t want to fuck.”

That made the look on her face go thoughtful and she looked him over as if properly seeing him for the first time. “I’ve just moved here,” she said. “Perhaps we can each buy our own drinks and you can tell me which other bars around here are decent, and which are full of assholes.”

Clint glanced around the bar again, noting the complete absence of men worth hitting on, and shrugged. If he wasn’t going to laid tonight he might as well make a new friend. “Sure, okay. I guess I know more about the local bars than I probably should.”

“Excellent,” she said, and held out a hand. “I’m Natasha.”

“Clint,” he responded, shaking her hand.

****

The assassination had been a success. The Asset had taken out the target and moved to the extraction point, pausing only to pull a long coat over his combat outfit and weapons so he wouldn’t attract attention.

And to buy coffee, of course. He hadn’t been issued any money for the mission, but it had been easy enough to lift a wallet from a passer-by.

When he got to the extraction point, the handler and a couple of guards were waiting for him.

“Why the fuck do you have coffee?” asked the handler.

The Asset looked at the two cups in his hands and opened his mouth, then found he didn’t have a reason. He’d just known that there would need to be two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for...someone.

But that was wrong. Coffee wasn’t part of the Asset’s nutritional needs. He should have known that when he ordered and realised that although he knew exactly how the other person took their coffee, he had no idea what to order for himself. He’d just got two the same in the end, because if the person he was buying for liked it that way, maybe he would as well.

“For fuck’s sake,” muttered the handler, and backhanded him, sending the coffee flying.

“Jesus, Rumlow, we could have drunk those,” said one of the other guards, kicking one of the fallen cups.

The Asset watched it, feeling an unusual stab of sadness because that had been for...someone. Someone who took their coffee very strong and black.

“He’s fucking glitching,” snapped the handler, then grabbed the Asset’s jacket and pulled him forward. “Get in the damn plane, we’re going to have to talk to Commander Pierce about this.”

****

“For fuck’s sake,” muttered Kate, flicking her hair back out of her face. “Why do I never remember to bring a hair tie?”

It was clearly meant to be a rhetorical question as she lined back up with the target and let her arrow fly. Clint watched it sink into just left of the very centre of the target, then cleared his throat. “I’ve got one,” he said, pulling the black band off his wrist and holding it out to her.

He’d come home from the grocery store the other day with a packet of them and had just stared at them for a moment before tucking them away in the cupboard with the bullets, and a couple of other bits he’d accumulated over the last few weeks without really knowing why. The leather gloves had been a bit expensive so he hoped they ended up getting used, but he was most concerned by the little stack of throwing knives. Trying to build up a picture of the person who’d need all these things once they arrived in Clint’s life wasn’t particularly easy.

Unlike everything else that he’d stashed in the cupboard, the hair ties had made a reappearance. Every morning, in his usual half-awake doze, he found himself sliding one on his wrist as he made coffee, and then carrying it with him all day.

Kate took it from him with a frown. “Okay, that’s scary-organised, who are you and what did you do with Clint Barton?”

Clint rolled his eyes at her. “Maybe it’s a sign you really need to start remembering to bring your own,” he said as she pulled her hair back.

His wrist felt empty now without the familiar grip of elastic. Hopefully today wouldn’t be the day he needed to offer it to someone else, some stranger with cold hands and an array of weaponry.

Some stranger who’d be Clint’s soulmate, but every time he thought about that too much he could feel anxiety tightening around his lungs, so he just pushed it all away, kept adding stuff to the cupboard, and didn’t let himself think about what it was all leading to.

****

“Repeat your mission parameters,” said the Commander, and there was an irritated note in his voice that the Asset knew meant he needed to perform at peak efficiency and obedience.

“Track target until he is alone, terminate target. No witnesses, no evidence. Return to extraction point within twenty-four hours,” repeated the Asset.

The Commander nodded. “No mention of coffee there,” he pointed out. “Did someone give you new parameters, or a secondary mission?”

When the Asset had been stealing the wallet and buying the coffee, it had felt exactly like someone had, but he didn’t remember it.

That didn’t always mean it hadn’t happened.

“Not that I remember,” he said, keeping his eyes forward as the handler circled around behind the chair he was in. 

The Commander’s eyes narrowed. “Explain exactly why you did it then.”

The Asset hesitated, and he knew that was a mistake, but he didn’t know how to put the feeling he’d had into words.

The Commander slapped him. “Explain,” he hissed.

The Asset drew in a breath. “It felt imperative for mission success,” he said. “I don’t remember the orders, but it felt like I had some. Someone needed me to provide the strongest black coffee I could find.”

“And the second cup?” asked the Commander.

The Asset felt his mouth go dry. This was going to get him punished, but he didn’t have another answer for him. “That was for me,” he said. “We would drink them together.”

The Commander’s jaw clenched tight with anger and he hit the Asset again. “You do not drink coffee,” he said, then hit him a third time. “You do not _socialise_.” He hit him a final time, splitting the Asset’s lip. “You need to operate at peak efficiency at all times, and not get distracted by ridiculous fantasies.”

He stepped back while the Asset was still blinking through the pain, and glanced at the technicians. “Wipe him, and prepare him for storage.”

“You know what it is, right, sir?” said the handler, wandering out of the shadows to watch as the Asset was forced back into the chair and the restraints were clicked on. “Why he’s having these weird reactions? Dogs and coffee, Jesus.”

“I know,” said The Commander and the Asset, who had been trained to accept only the information given to him and not ask for more, wished more than anything that they’d tell him what it all was for. Who was he bringing coffee for? Who would need to know about the dogs he saw? “We’ll have to freeze him for a few months and hope that the process will end if he’s not able to participate in it.”

The chair tipped back as the headpiece came down, and the Asset braced himself for the pain.

****

After their first meeting, Clint had ended up being close friends with Natasha. They had a regular arrangement to meet for a drink most Fridays, moving around the local bars to get some variety.

This week they were at the oldest and shabbiest of the local bars, which was also secretly Clint’s favourite. He liked knowing he didn’t have to worry so much about spilling beer over the floor.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, swinging into the booth where Natasha was waiting. “I had to go home and get changed.”

She glanced at the t-shirt Clint was wearing, then raised an eyebrow at him. “I dread to think what you were wearing before if you think that’s dressing up for a night out.”

“You’re not exactly the kind of person I dress up for,” said Clint. “Nah, I was at a self-defence class and got kinda...sweaty.”

Natasha made a delicately disgusted face. “What made you think you’d need self-defence? You’re over six foot and have shoulders like a linebacker, exactly who do you think is going to pick on you?”

Clint shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “But I seem to be doing a kickboxing class on Tuesdays as well.”

She blinked slowly then raised her eyebrows and Clint glanced away at the bar, because his new classes were the last thing he wanted to talk about. He had a cupboard full of weapons he couldn’t use and was now being led to learn how to fight, and he was starting to wonder if he even wanted to meet his soulmate if it was going to bring that much conflict into his life. He’d worked hard to carve out his current life, to turn his back on the violence and instability of his teenage years, and now it seemed meeting his soulmate was going to plunge him right back into it.

“I’m gonna get a beer, want anything?” he asked, starting to get up.

Natasha shook her head. “Steve will get it,” she said, and gestured over at a tall blond guy at the bar and, wow, if Clint had shoulders like a linebacker, this guy was built like a Greek god. He nodded back at Natasha and said something to the barman. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited him. We work together, but he just spends his weekends sitting at home moping. He needed to get out.”

“No problem, especially not if he’s buying me a drink,” said Clint. “Any chance this means I get to finally find out what mysterious thing it is you actually do?”

She just gave him a tiny, secretive smile.

****

The cryogenic chamber was already frosted with ice when the Asset stepped into it. The door swung shut with a heavy clang and his final thought was, inexplicably, _I wonder where the nearest pizza place is._

He couldn’t even remember ever eating pizza.

****

Months passed. Clint got good enough at various martial arts to pass into advanced classes. His wrist had a semi-permanent red line around it from carrying a hair tie everywhere he went. His cupboard had several boxes of bullets stacked in it, each for a different kind of gun.

The first time Natasha came over to his apartment was over a year after they first met, because it took Clint that long to bully her into watching _Dog Cops_ with him.

“This better be worth the fuss you’ve made,” she said as she settled on the sofa.

“If you don’t love it, we can’t be friends any more,” Clint told her very seriously as he went to get the popcorn.

When he came back, she was poking at the stack of blankets mounded on what had been his nice armchair. “Do you seriously get that cold?” she asked. “You know you could just buy a space heater, right?”

“I’ve got one,” said Clint, although he actually had three, hidden away because the apartment had pretty good heating and he didn’t usually get cold.

“Jesus,” muttered Natasha and pulled a sheathed Ka-Bar knife out of the stack, then turned to look at Clint with an eyebrow raised. 

Clint let out a sigh and took it from her, tucking it back into the pile of blankets, right in the middle where it had come from.

“Am I getting an explanation?” she asked.

“I don’t have one,” said Clint. “It’s - I’ve been preparing.”

Both eyebrows went up at that. It was normal that when you started seeing the little signs that you were getting ready to welcome a soulmate into your life that you’d tell your friends about it. You were meant to boast about it, share the excitement of trying to work out what all the little items you’d collected meant about the person you’d be meeting.

Clint hadn’t told a single soul about any of it.

“Your soulmate likes knives and fleecy blankets,” said Natasha, moving away from the chair and sitting back on the sofa. “Quite a contrast.”

She didn’t ask any questions, she just let Clint change the subject and put on the TV, sharing popcorn with him for three episodes until Clint finally, quietly, let slip the reason he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

“I’ve been preparing for over a year. Since before I met you.”

“Ah,” she said, and left it at that.

There wasn’t a set length of time that people prepared for. Some people only got their first sign of it an hour or two before meeting their soulmate, others spent months collecting items and rearranging their lives so that their soulmate would fit in easily. There had been studies about it, of course, about if the length of time was related to how much preparation had to be done or if it was just random, without much in the way of settled conclusions.

The longest Clint had ever heard of someone preparing was ten months.

Natasha didn’t say anything else about it, which Clint appreciated. He was trying too hard to pretend that it didn’t mean anything that he’d been waiting for so long to actually talk about it out loud.

The next time he saw her, she handed him a pair of fluffy socks. “For cold feet,” she said. “Sometimes blankets aren’t enough.”

Clint smiled his gratitude, and carefully added the socks to his stack of blankets, wondering when there would finally be someone to crawl inside them all and curl up, someone he could hold close and keep warm.

Someone who’d hopefully appreciate _Dog Cops_ more than Natasha had.

****

The Asset never knew how long he’d been frozen for. Sometimes he came out of the cold and it was the same faces wearing the same clothes, and sometimes he came out and he wasn’t even in the same country any more.

It didn’t matter; only the next mission mattered. And there was always a mission waiting for him.

“This is the target,” said the handler, handing over a photo. It was the same handler, and he didn’t seem to have aged much, so the Asset thought it couldn’t have been too long this time. “He needs to be taken out in complete silence. There will be people in the next room, and they can’t know you’re there.”

The Asset nodded, studying the photo, and then looked at the blueprints of the building and the surrounding areas.

“No guns,” said the handler, gesturing to the weapons laid out for him. “You’ll cut his throat. He can’t wake up and make a noise before you do it.”

“I understand,” said the Asset, looking over the knives and throwing stars set out for him. There was a garrote as well but only weapons that wouldn’t make a sound if used correctly. “What about arrows?”

“What?”

The Asset could tell from the tone of the handler’s voice that he’d made a mistake but he wasn’t sure why. He would need arrows for the mission, in case the other person ran out.

The other person. Someone the Asset needed to make sure had everything they needed. Who was that?

The handler reached out and closed his hand tight around the Asset’s throat. The Asset let it happen. “Don’t fuck about,” hissed the handler. “It’s been a long fucking year, and I don’t have time for any bullshit. No arrows, no dogs, no fucking coffee. Just get this guy fucking dead and get back here. He’s not the only asshole who thought he could make money out of betraying us, and there’s more work for you to do.”

He gave the Asset’s throat a warning squeeze before letting go. The Asset drew in a couple of breaths through the ache of strangulation and nodded, then started to gather up the weaponry and holster it all. There was a mission to prepare for.

As he was bundled in a van to be taken to the target’s house, he couldn’t help thinking that it would be nice to have someone to go with him, someone with a bow who could watch his back without compromising the mission.

Someone who might have a cup of coffee waiting for him afterwards.

****

Clint had never really been the kind of guy who got obsessive about sports but he was happy enough to settle in front of a game with a beer if that’s what his friends were doing.

He wasn’t sure how that had ended with him having Natasha and Steve and Sam over pretty much every Saturday to watch baseball, especially when it was very clear that the only person who really cared about baseball was Steve.

He probably cared enough for all the rest of them put together, though.

Still, Steve brought beer and Nat brought vodka and Sam brought an array of home-baked snacks, so it wasn’t like Clint was about to complain about it. He’d never really had a group of friends like this before, who had a standing weekly arrangement and who knew each other well enough to just wander into his place with only a cursory knock.

“Hey, I bought nachos, hope that’s- whoa.” Sam paused and looked around Clint’s apartment. “You redecorated.”

Clint ran a hand over his hair. “Yeah, kinda,” he said. He’d been struck with an itch the other night and hadn’t been able to settle until all his furniture was shifted around into different places, even when the neighbours started banging on the floor because of the noise he was making. “Thought it was time for a change, you know?”

“It’s definitely a change,” said Sam, then flashed him a grin and headed for the kitchen with his snacks. “Looks good, though.”

Clint wasn’t sure he meant it, which was fine. He had no idea why he’d thought the sofa would work best tucked in the darkest corner, away from the windows, but any time he thought about moving it the itch came back and he couldn’t bring himself to.

It was a few hours later, after they’d all drunk a bit too much, and eaten far too much pizza and all the nachos, and Steve was at the stage of throwing scrunched up napkins at the TV and calling the referee all kinds of names while the rest of them began to lose interest in the game, that anyone else commented on it.

“You know,” said Natasha, softly, “if I were rearranging the furniture to be as defensive as possible, this is how I would do it.”

Clint still didn’t know exactly what she did, but she had relented enough tell him it was in security, and that she worked with Steve and occasionally Sam helped out, so he figured she knew what she was talking about. Clint looked around the room, thinking about sightlines through the windows and ways to blockade the entrances, and saw what she meant.

He sighed and slumped back further against the sofa. “Who the hell is this asshole going to be?” he muttered, low enough that she was the only one who heard.

She gently patted at his hair and Clint let his eyes shut, pushing back against the wall of emotion. Who the hell was this soulmate he’d spent a year and a half preparing for? What the hell kind of person needed weapons and defensive furniture, for fuck’s sake?

He glanced at the blankets that he’d eventually taken off the chair so it could be used and folded up in a stack next to it instead, knife still carefully hidden inside. He’d worked so hard to get away from violent assholes like his dad and brother, and all the fuckers at the circus. It figured he’d be destined to spend his life with one.

“Hey, you okay?” asked Steve, glancing away from the screen as the innings came to an end.

“Yeah,” said Clint, plastering on a smile. Natasha was still the only person he’d told about his preparations, although he had a feeling Steve and Sam had noticed something was up and were just being polite about not mentioning it. “Hey, your team had their asses kicked yet?”

Steve puffed up with indignation, just as Clint had known he would, and he settled back to laugh at the inevitable rant about biased umpires and unfair home advantages.

At least he had this now, friends he could hang out with and laugh at. If his soulmate never showed up, this would be enough.

It was certainly better than anything he’d had before.

****

The target had a dog.

The Asset stopped dead when he saw it, curled up in a basket by the bed while the target quietly slept. He knew that his handlers would expect him to remove the risk of it making a noise with a swift knife, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He found himself frozen in place, staring at the sleeping shape and memorising the details of its breed and size, so he could share it later with-

With who? Not his handlers, he’d learnt that lesson at least. And who else was there? There were handlers and technicians and targets. There was no one else in the Asset’s life.

The target snorted in his sleep and shifted onto his side, and the Asset made himself concentrate. He couldn’t bring himself to harm the dog so he moved as silently as he could, using every scrap of training he’d ever had, until he was leaning over the bed and able to cut the target’s throat.

He never even woke up, never made a sound. The Asset kept his eyes on the dog, who remained asleep, and moved back to the window, climbing out almost as silently as he’d come in.

Not quite silently enough. The dog woke up as he eased the window shut, and seemed to know as soon as it was awake that something was up. It leaped to its feet and jumped on the bed, barking furiously, and then pausing to sniff at its dead master. 

It let out a pained howl and started barking again, and the Asset could hear movement in the other room. He dropped down from the window and disappeared into the night, telling himself that he had completed the mission as commanded. No one had seen or heard him, and the target was dead. The dog was irrelevant.

He hurried away, darting through alleys and across back yards until he was in a different part of the town. There was still an hour before he was due to be extracted and he needed to stay unnoticed until then.

He wandered down a busy street, sticking to the shadows and keeping his head down as late-night revellers passed by. A large group of college kids went by and he turned to look at a noticeboard to hide his face.

It was filled with notices for clubs and events happening at the community centre it was attached to. His eyes skimmed over them without really reading, waiting until the group had passed by, and then he froze, staring at a poster that should have meant nothing to him.

_ASL Classes_   
_7pm, Tuesday nights_

ASL. He reached out and tore the poster off, staring at the little pictures of hands shaped into letters.

“Hey, that’s for everyone to look at, not just you,” said a voice, and he glanced over to see a caretaker locking the centre door. “You want to leave it where it is?”

_Don’t be noticed._ One of the first and most important commands he’d ever been given.

The Asset froze for a moment under the unimpressed look of the caretaker, trying to remember how to respond to a civilian. When had he last spoken to someone who wasn’t Hydra?

“Sorry,” he said, because that seemed safe enough, and tried to stick the poster back up. He’d ripped it off the pin and trying to pull it back out so he could repin it proved tricky in his gloves, and he was all too aware of the eyes of the caretaker on him, judging him.

The caretaker let out a sigh and stepped over. “Give it here,” he muttered, and took the poster from him, pulling the pin out easily. He glanced at the poster as he put it back up. “You’re interested in learning ASL?” he asked. “It’s a good course, my niece did it.”

The Asset needed to respond. “I-” he started, and then had no idea how to finish it. Was he interested in learning ASL? Why had that poster in particular pulled his attention?

“Someone needs me to learn,” he said, after a moment.

“Yeah?” asked the caretaker. “You close to someone with hearing loss?”

The Asset just stared at him helplessly. He need to get away before he made too much of an impression, but he couldn’t just walk away and leave. He remembered that much about normal social interaction.

“Ah,” said the caretaker, as if the Asset’s panicked expression had made something clear. “Not yet, but you’re going to be, right? You preparing for your soulmate?”

Soulmate. The word sent a rush through the Asset that opened up memories of things that had been blocked off from him decades ago. When you were due to meet your soulmate, you started to prepare for them by gathering things they’d need, and learning new skills, and… And starting to notice things they’d care about.

Things like dogs.

“Yeah,” he said, and he almost didn’t recognise his voice because it sounded so dazed. “I must be.”

He turned and walked away without waiting for any further conversation, exhilaration rushing through him as he put together all the signs. Dogs and coffee and arrows, and ASL. Little clues to let him know who he needed to be looking for.

To let him know who he was meant to be with.

Except he wasn’t meant for anything like that. He was a tool, a weapon, he couldn’t have a soulmate.

Could he? 

He tried to imagine a soulmate and how they’d fit in to his existence, and just kept picturing a handler who didn’t punish him as often as the others did. Or maybe another asset, someone he’d go on missions with.

The thought of his soulmate having to go through the chair, being frozen and kept mission-ready like he was, made him feel vaguely sick.

None of it felt right. He was the fist of Hydra, the tool they used to reshape the world, there wasn’t a space for a soulmate for him.

He needed to just shake all this useless stuff off and focus on the work he’d been made for, before he got punished again.

****

Clint came back from the shops with a bag full of window locks, door bolts, and a security camera he wasn’t sure how to set up, and just stared at it all.

Fuck, there went his Saturday getting those all fitted, then.

He slumped on his sofa and put his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he was doing. Why did he keep doing all this stuff when his soulmate was no closer to showing up than they had been that first time Clint had found himself coming home with a purchase that made no sense? It had been nearly two years. If he was going to meet his damn soulmate, he’d have done it by now.

He took a deep breath and then gave in to the wave of despair, dropping his face into his hands.

_Fuck._

Of course he didn’t get what other people got: someone who’d love him no matter what. He hadn’t got that from his family, why the hell had he been expecting it from a stranger?

He was just going to spend the rest of his life hoarding bullets and glancing over his shoulder, and then die just as alone as he’d lived.

“Fuck this bullshit,” he said out loud to his empty flat, to the cupboard full of weapons and the stack of blankets and the hair tie around his wrist, and the achingly hollow feeling in his chest. “Fuck it all.”

He sat there for another five minutes, and then he went to find his toolkit to get started on the locks.

****

After every mission, when the Asset arrived back at the base, he got taken to a bathroom to wash the blood off his face and hands so he wouldn’t make a mess while he was being debriefed. He’d been instructed to shoot this target, but he’d then had to bend over her body to retrieve the data Hydra needed, and there had been some splatter from one of the guards he’d surprised on the way into the lab as well.

He took more care cleaning up than he usually did, drying his hands thoroughly afterwards rather than just patting off the droplets.

He got taken to the briefing room rather than the room with the chair, which was a relief he didn’t let show on his face. That meant there was another mission for him so he wouldn’t be wiped and frozen again just yet.

The handler was busy with something else so he was left alone in the room for a few minutes. He took the chance to open his jacket and carefully pull out his prize.

The scarf was thick and soft, and a beautiful deep purple colour that had called out to the Asset as soon as he’d seen it, hooked over the coathooks by the lab’s entrance. He went over it very carefully with his clean hands, making sure there was no blood or other damage on it.

It was perfect. He petted the wool and thought about draping it around someone's neck, making sure they were warm and snug.

He was being ridiculous. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. The handler and technicians had worked so hard at making sure he kept anything unrelated to the mission locked away, and here he was breaking all their rules.

The handler came in holding a folder and looking tired, then paused in the doorway. “What the hell is that?”

The Asset had known this moment was coming. He didn't get to keep anything between missions. He was stripped down and washed, and his gear replaced with fresh stuff before he was sent out again. Sometimes he was given food as well, but only for the longer missions.

What he didn't get was to keep a souvenir.

“I said, what the hell is that?” repeated the handler, dropping the folder on the table. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

The Asset couldn't think of an answer that wouldn't get him punished. He scrunched the scarf up as small as he could make it, as if he could hide it away in his hands. “The colour was right,” he said helplessly, knowing he was only setting himself up for more punishment but he didn’t have anything else to offer.

The handler let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “What the fuck,” he muttered to himself, then threw a punch at the Asset, catching him right in the jaw when he kept still and didn't flinch away from it. “What the hell do you think you're playing at? You know how this fucking works, or you should by now.”

He punched the Asset again and blood flew as his lip split. The Asset tucked the scarf away in his jacket again to protect it.

The handler stood back and let out a loud groan. “I don’t have fucking time for this today,” he said. “Fine, okay, keep your fucking rag for now. Give me a fucking debrief and then I’ll sort the rest of this shit out.”

The Asset nodded, ignoring the sting of bruises forming, and began his report. He carefully left out any mention of taking the scarf.

“Right,” said the handler, once he was finished. He pushed the file towards the Asset. “Okay, look at this, memorise the floor plans. This was going to be your next mission but now you’re glitching like a broken toy, I’ve gotta report it and see if we’re going to rethink or not.”

The Asset nodded and picked the file up as the handler headed out of the room. He paused in the doorway and glared back. “Don’t do anything else,” he said. “Just sit there, read the damn briefing, and don’t go wandering off to find a matching hat or anything.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Asset and turned his attention to the folder.

After he’d read the folder through once, carefully, memorising the faces of the targets, he went back to the blueprints of the building they’d be in and started learning every twist and turn of every corridor.

There was a room behind the mirror of the briefing room. The Asset didn’t know if he was meant to know that, but no one had ever asked if he knew that sometimes when he was in there he was being observed, or if he could hear the occasional quiet conversation. He did know his hearing had been improved to better serve Hydra, but it seemed his handlers didn’t truly know just how much it had been improved if they thought they could have private conversations in there.

And because they’d never asked, he hadn’t seen the point in telling them.

“He looks just like he always does,” said a voice behind the mirror. 

“He’s got a fucking scarf stuffed under his jacket like a kid’s stuffed toy,” said another voice. The handler. “And there was all that business with the dogs and the coffee last year.”

“He was asking about arrows earlier,” said another voice, and the first one sighed.

“God damnit,” he said, and the Asset realised it was the Commander. “It figures that our best weapon would start fucking up just as we need it most.”

“You want us to wipe him again?” asked the handler, and the Asset did his best to keep looking at the folder without reacting to the words at all.

“We tried that,” said the Commander. “We tried wiping him and freezing him, but apparently this soulmate business is more tenacious than that. He’s going to be a liability until it’s sorted.”

“Sorted?” asked the third voice. “You think he’s going to meet a soulmate? Jesus, can you imagine what kinda freak that would be?”

“Can you imagine what weirdass preparations they must be doing?” added the handler. “Some poor fucker wandering around trying to work out why they’re putting a cryofreeze chamber in their fucking bedroom?”

“Learning computer code so they can reprogram him,” said the third voice, with a horrible snigger. The Asset felt something clench in his chest at the thought of whoever it was that he’d stolen the scarf for trying to make sense of having a soulmate who was essentially a blank slate.

“Shut it,” said the Commander. “It doesn’t matter, whoever it is. They’re never going to meet him. Wipe him and put him back into freeze, and this time we’ll leave him there for a few decades. We can afford to play the long game and wait until this soulmate is dead and gone.”

“And the next mission?” asked the handler.

“You’ll have to do it,” said the Commander. “You and your team will have to be our new fist.”

“We can do that,” said the handler, and the Asset could hear the grin in his voice, the pure joy at the idea of going into the building the Asset was still pretending to study and killing all the faces in the photos on the previous page. The Asset had always done his job to the best of his ability, but he’d never felt joy at it.

“I’ll get him prepped for wiping then,” said the third voice. “If we’re going to freeze him for a few decades, he’ll need to be completely reprogrammed when we wake him up so there’s no point in keeping anything. I’ll do a clean sweep.”

The Asset couldn’t keep his hand from tightening into a fist. He was going to have everything he’d learnt about his soulmate taken away from him, and then he was going to be put into freeze until they were dead. He thought about that, thought about his soulmate spending the rest of their life wondering why they didn’t have anyone looking for them. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like his chest was going to tear apart.

It was one of the technicians who came into the room rather than the handler. He had a guard with him, but he stayed in the doorway, looking bored.

“Okay, that’s enough reading,” said the technician and held out his hand. “Give me the scarf and then come with me.”

The Asset didn't want to give him the scarf. He wanted to give it to his soulmate.

He didn’t want to have his memories wiped away. He wanted to remember that he needed to tell his soulmate about any dogs he saw, and that they liked their coffee black.

He didn’t want to be frozen so that he missed them. He wanted to meet them.

“Come on,” said the technician, gesturing with his hand. “We don’t have all day.”

The Asset stood up and carefully reached into his jacket, as if about to pull out the scarf out. The technician settled back on his heels expectantly, and so was not at all prepared when the Asset pulled a knife instead, slashing it across his throat before he had a chance to make a noise.

He was up and moving before the technician’s body had hit the ground, throwing the knife at the guard and burying it right in his eye. He pulled out another one as he strode out the room and down the corridor towards the exit. He needed to get out and away before they got a tranquilliser gun, or someone who knew the words to shut him down, or any of the hundred other ways they’d found to control him over the years.

He needed to get out and away, so he could find his soulmate.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam set the tray down on the table, handing around the drinks to the rest of them. “What’s the plan for tonight then?” he asked as he settled himself into the booth next to Natasha.

Steve shrugged. “Same thing we do every night.”

“Try to take over the world?” asked Clint with amusement.

Steve gave him a wide-eyed and vaguely horrified stare. “What?”

Clint had a suspicion that Steve had had a really sheltered childhood. He never seemed to get the references Clint made.

Sam cleared his throat. “I meant, Pinky, are we going to play pool, or are you and your wingman going to be distracted all night?” He nodded at Natasha, who gave him an unimpressed look.

“If anything, he’s my wingman,” she said.

Clint had to admit that Natasha tended to have a higher success rate with picking up hook-ups than Clint. He liked to tell himself that it was because these days, he wasn’t as interested in random sex with strangers, not when he’d spent so long waiting for a soulmate to walk into his life.

It was probably more that an insanely hot woman who had confidence and knowledge of what she wanted like Natasha was always going to do better than a scruffy disaster like Clint.

“I’m not looking for a hook-up,” he said instead. “Pool would be good, though.”

“No,” said Natasha immediately. “I’m not interested in watching you hustle Sam again.”

“I don’t _hustle_ Sam,” said Clint at the same time as Sam spoke.

“I came close to winning last night, I bet I could beat him tonight.”

Steve joined in with Natasha’s disbelieving snort and Clint let out a sigh, wondering when he’d let these people get to know him well enough to refuse to play pool with him. They’d already all sworn off darts.

Natasha’s phone flashed and she picked it up, then let out a quiet Russian word that sounded like a curse. “Steve, check your phone.”

Steve pulled his out and swore as well, in English though. He and Natasha both got up, grabbing their coats. 

“Gotta go,” said Natasha. “Work emergency.”

“You guys need me?” asked Sam.

Steve hesitated for a moment, then glanced at his phone again and nodded. Sam was on his feet immediately.

“Sorry, Clint,” said Natasha, and then they were all gone, leaving Clint with an empty booth and four half-drunk drinks.

One day, he’d find out what the hell jobs they all had that meant they were on call at all hours, and he’d be able to judge whether or not he should be pissed off when this happened. Until then, he was going to finish their drinks for them. Waste not, want not, right?

And then maybe he’d be able to find someone in this place who hadn’t been warned off from playing pool with him.

****

If the Asset thought about it too much, he didn’t know where he was going. As long as he let his feet take him wherever they would, as long as he hopped on trains and stowed away on ships and didn’t think too much about the destinations, it felt like he knew exactly where he was going.

He was going to his soulmate.

Without having to worry about Hydra’s reaction, he found himself tucking things away in his bag that he shouldn’t have had a need for. A book on ASL that he stole from a bookshop he hadn’t intended to go into, and which he read every night before sleeping, memorising the gestures that he hoped his soulmate would understand. A fridge magnet in the shape of a slice of pizza, which had prompted him to make a change from grabbing sandwiches and protein bars from the nearest convenience store and instead buy a pizza for himself, hot and greasy and tasting like freedom in a way he hadn’t expected. A set of bright purple arrow fletchings that he picked up from the third archery range he found himself unexpectedly outside of.

The fletchings were the same shade as the scarf that he still had carefully hidden away. He didn’t keep that in his bag because it felt too precious to risk losing. Instead, he kept it neatly folded inside his jacket, pressed over his heart. One day, he was going to see it looped around someone’s neck and know that they were his.

If they wanted him.

The longer he was away from Hydra, the more of himself he got back, until he could feel the shape of the man who he’d been, the man that Hydra had ripped away from him. That was the man that his soulmate deserved but no matter how hard the Asset tried, he couldn’t turn back the clock and become that man again.

James. He’d been called James.

How could he become James again when so much of himself was still broken? How would his soulmate react to finding out just how little of the man he should have been was left?

He couldn’t go back to Hydra and he couldn’t pretend there was anywhere else for him to be but at his soulmate’s side. All he could do was find them, present them with the crumbs of himself that he was gathering back together, and see if they wanted him.

And if they didn’t… Well, he wouldn’t force it. He’d disappear from their life and never bother them again.

But he had to take the chance, he had to find them and see their face at least once, to fill in the empty spaces in his daydreams. He needed to know exactly how much Hydra had taken from him.

****

Clint had left his fucking scarf at home and it was fucking cold as fuck and he hated everything about today.

He’d ended up having to close up at the range, which meant it was already getting dark as he tried, for the fifth time, to pull his coat collar up enough to shelter his neck from the wind. He was meant to be going straight home but he found himself heading into the coffeeshop opposite the range instead, half for the promise of coffee and half because it meant a few more minutes out of the wind.

When he came out, he had two cups in his hands. He stopped on the sidewalk to stare at the second one, frustration running through him until he wanted to scream. How much longer was this going to keep happening? When would this stupid soulmate bullshit realise that Clint clearly wasn’t ever going to meet them, and just fuck off and leave him alone?

He took a deep breath instead, shivering as another blast of cold wind hit his neck, then glanced around to see if there was anyone nearby who looked like they could use a free coffee.

There was a man stopped dead a few feet away, staring at Clint with a pale, wide-eyed look. He was wearing entirely black and had a bag slung over his shoulder, but Clint couldn’t really take in any details other than the square line of his jaw and the blue of his eyes. Damn, a guy that hot could stare at Clint all he liked.

The man started when Clint met his eyes and took a step forward, then stopped again. “Your neck is cold,” he said in a rough voice, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while.

“Yeah, it’s fucking freezing,” agreed Clint.

The man jerked a nod, then unzipped his jacket and slowly pulled out a scarf. It was a deep shade of purple and looked warm and soft. “I think this is for you,” said the man, holding it out hesitantly. “It matches your hat.”

Clint’s breath caught in his throat. “It’s my favourite colour,” he said softly, and the man’s eyes only grew wider. He gently reached out and draped the scarf around Clint’s neck, and Clint could feel it was still warm from being kept close to his body.

This was it. This had to be it. Clint had finally found his soulmate.

“I didn’t mean to buy two,” he said, holding up the two cups in his hands. “So the other must be for you.”

The man’s hands clenched into fists as he stared at the cups. “Black coffee, two espresso shots.”

“Yeah,” said Clint, giddiness winding up through his chest at the confirmation that this stranger _knew_ him, “that’s how I take mine. I got you a latte.” He held the cup out.

“A latte,” repeated the guy slowly, as if he’d never heard the word before. He took the cup carefully, cradling it in both gloved hands and staring down at it, then back up at Clint. He looked completely lost and helpless, as if this was taking him by even more surprise than it was Clint. “You like dogs,” he said. “I saw one earlier, a black labrador. I needed to tell you about it.”

“I love dogs,” said Clint, and he could feel himself starting to smile as the reality of the moment sank in. This was _finally_ happening, he’d actually met the person he’d been preparing for for over two years. “What’s your name?”

The man hesitated weirdly, as if that were a difficult question. “James,” he said, after a long moment. “I’m James.”

Clint wanted to wrap him up in the biggest hug he could manage, but even if they hadn’t both been holding hot drinks, he didn’t think James would appreciate it. There was something stiff and tense about him that didn’t invite casual touches like that. “I’m Clint,” he said, holding his hand out instead. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

James carefully shook his hand, black leather glove sliding against Clint’s fingers. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. “I’ve been...in a bad place.”

“You’re here now,” said Clint. He knew all about being in a bad place and he found himself forgiving the guy for the wait before he’d even heard the details. “I’ve got some things at home that are for you as well. My apartment’s only a few blocks away, do you want to come with me?”

James’s smile lit his whole face up. Clint couldn’t help staring at it. “Yes,” he said. “Please.”

****

The coffee his soulmate had bought for him tasted fantastic. James couldn’t hold in a hum of pleasure as he tasted it, and his soulmate grinned at him.

Clint. His soulmate was called Clint. He was tall and had broad shoulders, and there was blond hair sticking out from under his knitted hat, and the scarf James had kept so safe looked perfect wrapped around his neck.

“Do you live around here?” asked Clint.

James considered how to answer that, and then decided the truth was probably the best. “I don’t live anywhere at the moment,” he said. “But if you’re here, then I will be too.”

Clint shot him a startled look but all he said was, “Okay, no problem. I’ve had a couple of times when I didn’t really have a permanent base. I’d be happy for you to stay with me, if you need somewhere.”

James wanted that more than anything. “Thank you,” he managed, and he could hear how awkward and stilted he sounded. He didn’t know how to explain it all to Clint, that he wasn’t just homeless, but also on the run. He would need to, somehow. It wasn’t fair for Clint not to know about the danger that James might be bringing into his life.

Clint’s apartment was in a part of Brooklyn that it felt like James knew, although he couldn’t attach the familiarity to any specific memories. He let James into his building and up to his apartment without any apparent qualms about having a stranger in his space. James glanced around and saw heavy-duty locks on the doors and windows, and felt something inside him settle that Clint was taking some precautions to keep himself safe.

“Just hang your stuff up here,” said Clint, gesturing at the hooks by the door. He took his own jacket and hat off, then hesitated when his hands settled on the scarf. Instead of taking it off, he just unlooped it and left it hanging over his shoulders.

“You like it, then?” asked James after he’d set his bag down and taken his jacket off, but left his gloves and hoodie on. He didn’t want Clint to see his arm just yet, not until he’d worked out how to tell him about it.

Clint flashed him a bright smile as he headed into the kitchen. “Oh yeah,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

James let the warm glow settle into his chest.

Clint opened a cupboard. “So, this is all stuff I got that I figured had to be for you.”

The cupboard was very full. James stared at it. He hadn’t thought there’d really be anything for someone to prepare for him, not when he knew so little about himself and what he wanted.

“Uh, there’s a fair few of these,” said Clint, pulling out boxes of bullets and setting them down. James picked one up to read the details, then looked back up at Clint and the question he was obviously not asking.

James felt something inside himself crumble. Of course it was bullets. He was nothing but a weapon, after all. He reached for the gun stuffed into his waistband and pulled it out, setting it down next to the ammo that would fit it perfectly.

“Right,” said Clint quietly. “Okay.” He turned back to the cupboard and pulled out some gloves, black leather just like the ones James was wearing. “Not sure why I got these when you’ve already got some. I guess they’re fingerless though, that’s different.”

James looked at them and then at his current pair of gloves. He’d been wearing them non-stop since he’d escaped from Hydra and they were getting pretty battered. Some of the fingertips were close to wearing through. He pulled off the right one and then, with as little hesitation as he could manage, the left one.

“Oh,” said Clint quietly, staring at the metal fingers as James absently flexed them. “Are you- Shit. Sorry, it’s rude to ask.”

“It’s fine,” said James, pulling on the new gloves instead and admiring them. They were heavy-duty, padded in all the places they might wear out, and having his fingertips free was definitely going to make it easier to do things. “I lost my arm. This is a replacement.”

“It’s cool,” said Clint. “Very shiny.”

James managed a weak smile at that, because ‘shiny’ was definitely not one of the adjectives he’d have associated with the arm but Clint wasn’t wrong.

Clint pulled out the other things from the cupboard, and James couldn’t help noticing that they were all highly practical, or weaponry. He glanced over it all and wondered what he’d have been looking at if Hydra hadn’t taken him. What would the guy he used to be have prompted his soulmate to collect for him?

Probably not a set of throwing knives.

In return, he went and found the pizza magnet and the fletchings for Clint, who was very pleased with them. James watched the easiness of his smile and wondered how he’d be able to keep causing it without the promptings from whatever made you prepare for your soulmate. Once you met them, it all just disappeared and left you to work out how to make them happy all on your own.

James didn’t know how to make anyone happy.

“Okay, we’re going to order pizza and get to know each other,” said Clint, picking up his phone. “That good with you? You don’t have anywhere to be?”

James shook his head. “Nowhere,” he said, and then forced himself to be honest. “But you might not want me to stay here. There’s people after me. They’re violent and will stop at nothing. I’ve lost myself pretty well but if they find me, they won’t hesitate to hurt you.”

Clint put the phone down without dialling. “Okay,” he said quietly, turning back to James and giving him a steady look. “Do you deserve what they want to do to you?”

James let out a long breath at the question, letting his mind run through all the pain and torture. “No,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “No, I didn’t...I didn’t deserve any of it.” Tears suddenly sprung into his eyes and he clenched them shut, drawing in a deep breath that caught in his throat.

“Oh shit, sweetheart,” said Clint, hurrying closer. “Can I hug you?”

James managed a nod and a moment later strong, warm arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he pressed his face into Clint’s shoulder and struggled to get control of his emotions. Being held like this was like nothing he could remember feeling, warm and safe and perfect, knowing that his soulmate was there with him, that he cared enough to not want to see him upset.

James wanted to make Clint’s arms his home.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he’d recovered enough social awareness to know that you didn’t cry all over someone you’d just met, soulmate or not.

“You don’t have to be sorry for having emotions,” said Clint, and smoothed a hand down James’s back. “Whatever you need. There’s a place for you here, in my apartment, in my arms, wherever you want to be.”

James had thought he’d been getting used to the emotions that kept hitting him, but the abrupt tidal wave of feeling that broke over him at Clint’s words was too much. He clung on tighter, feeling more tears filling his eyes as Clint just held on, strong and steady.

“Okay, pizza can wait,” he said. “Come on, I think I’ve got this one.” He gently walked them over to the sofa and sat James down, then pulled a couple of blankets off a stack nearby and wrapped them around him before pulling him back in to rest against him, stroking over James’s hair.

It was perfect. James let himself just luxuriate in the feeling for long minutes while Clint held him. After a few minutes, he tentatively reached out to put his arms around Clint as well, taking his chance to get to hold him back.

They stayed like that until James felt calm enough to speak. “They want me under their control,” he said. “But I just want to be here with you.”

“Okay,” said Clint. “Then you’ll be here with me, and fuck anyone else. If they come for you, they’ll regret it.”

“Yeah,” agreed James, because he was going to destroy any Hydra agent who came anywhere near Clint. They’d made him into a weapon, into the kind of person whose soulmate stockpiled ammo for him. They’d come to regret that.

****

They did eventually order pizza, once James had calmed down enough to let go of Clint so he could order it. He insisted on checking through the spyhole in the front door before he’d let Clint open it, one hand holding his gun even after Clint had assured him that it was a delivery guy he recognised. They ate on the sofa, close enough that their knees and elbows knocked together, but Clint wasn’t interested in putting any distance between them and it didn’t seem like James was either.

Clint wasn’t sure what he’d expected in a soulmate, but it definitely hadn’t been James. He was quiet and serious, twitching to glance around at the windows every so often, and although he happily listened to every word Clint said about his life, looking like he was soaking it all up, he didn’t offer much about himself. He didn’t even say anything else about the mysterious people after him who he was so afraid of, but Clint was happy enough to give him time on that one. He knew what it was like to be so afraid that even naming the fear felt impossible.

Despite all that though, it was mostly just really easy with James. Clint hadn’t known it could be this easy with anyone, just to talk and coax out a slowly increasing number of devastatingly beautiful smiles, and curl up against each other again, wrapped in the blankets Clint had bought for James so long ago now.

Clint’s phone rang just as he was considering if he should get another beer each for them, or just stay in their little cuddle nest for the rest of his life. James flinched back away from the noise and Clint gave him a smile as he pulled the phone out.

It was Natasha calling and Clint suddenly realised just how late it had got, and that it was a Friday night. He winced as he answered.

“Uh, hi.”

“Clint Barton, you better be dead or dying, because I do not get stood up.”

“I’m sorry,” said Clint, “I’m so sorry, something came up and I forgot all about it.”

There was a dangerously quiet pause. “You forgot,” she repeated. “Over two years we’ve been meeting for a drink on Friday nights, and you just _forgot._ ”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Sorry.”

“You better sprint over here now then.”

“Um,” said Clint, looking at James, who had settled back against the sofa and pulled the blankets around himself. “Yeah, that’s not happening. I ran into someone who really likes fluffy blankets.”

“Ah,” said Natasha softly. “And big knives?”

James’s reaction to the knife had been to pull out the identical one he already had stashed away on his person and compare them with the same carefully blank expression Clint was getting used to whenever he came across anything new.

“Yeah, them too,” said Clint. “So, I’m not coming out tonight, and probably not for a few days. Tell the others that they’ll have to watch the game tomorrow at someone else’s place.”

“I will,” said Natasha. “And, Clint? Congratulations.”

Clint looked at James again, at his stupidly handsome face and the way he’d tugged the blankets so tightly around himself that Clint could track the full width of his shoulders, and couldn’t hold in a smile. “Thanks,” he said, and hung up.

He tossed the phone on the table and grinned at James. “Sorry, I accidentally stood up my best friend.”

James flicked his hair back out of his face in a way that made Clint think about the hair tie around his wrist, and the other packets he had stashed all over the apartment. “Tell me about them?” he asked.

Clint was more than happy to tell him anything he wanted to know, so he grabbed his phone again to pull up one of the tiny handful of photos that Natasha had deigned to be in. James settled in close next to him and stared at it, listening to Clint tell him about nights out in shitty bars and nights in arguing over what they were going to watch.

“Natasha,” he said quietly, reaching out to take the phone to inspect one of the photos closer. “She’s...What does she do?”

“No idea,” said Clint cheerfully. “Something that’s either top secret or super-embarrassing. Whenever I ask, she just says security then looks mysterious, so at this stage I’m beginning to think she’s a mall cop.”

James made a humming sound under his breath that didn’t sound convinced. That was fair, Natasha didn’t look like the mall cop type.

“You got a best friend?” Clint asked, taking the phone back.

James shook his head. “I don’t have any friends.”

God, the guy was breaking Clint’s heart. No wonder Clint had had so long to prepare when he was clearly going to be spending the next few years wrapping James in soft blankets and getting him to smile and hopefully making up for all the shitty things that were in his past.

“Hey, not true,” said Clint. “You’ve got me. And you’ll have Nat as well, once you meet her. She’ll want to be friends with my soulmate.”

James didn’t look as if he believed that. He hunched over in a way that made Clint pull him into a hug almost instinctively. 

“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” he said softly, stroking his fingers through his hair. “We’ve found each other now.”

James let out a sigh and relaxed into Clint’s hold, his head resting on his shoulder. It felt so familiar and natural that Clint couldn’t believe they’d only just met. God, this was all so _easy_ , Clint couldn’t believe he got to have it.

****

James slept the first night on the couch, all wrapped up in the soft blankets that his soulmate had kept for him.

 _His soulmate_. James wasn’t sure when he’d get used to that.

The next morning Clint was sleepy and rumpled, hitching up sagging pyjama bottoms and not bothering with a shirt as he drank coffee at the breakfast bar. Just the concept of him felt like too much for James to cope with, and actually being in the presence of him threatened to blank his mind far more completely than the chair ever had, until there was nothing left but the sight and sound of his soulmate.

“What d’you wanna do today?” Clint asked. “I’ve cleared my schedule.”

James just shrugged. “I’ve no plans,” he said, because the only thing he had booked in for the rest of his life was to try and make Clint smile as often as possible.

“Mkay,” said Clint, and rubbed a hand over his face. “How about this? The breakfast options here are shit, so we go get pancakes, then go to a dog park and argue about which dog is cutest before realising it’s all of them, then come home and I can introduce you to _Dog Cops_.”

“That sounds perfect,” said James, and it was. 

Everything they did felt like it was opening up more of himself, slowly pulling out the things that Hydra had tried to bury. They got pancakes and he rediscovered that he hated strawberries and loved maple syrup. The wind tangled his hair in the park and Clint had a hair tie waiting for him, smoothing James’s hair back into a bun for him, and James realised that he wanted to feel Clint’s hands in his hair while they kissed. A faint memory came to him, nothing more than what someone else’s lips felt like against his, but it was one more step in rebuilding who the old James had been.

By the time they were back on the sofa, James in borrowed sweatpants and wrapped in a blanket again, he felt as if he must be living in some kind of dreamworld, because nothing could ever be this perfect.

They watched Clint’s strange police show for most of the afternoon and into the evening. Clint ended up sprawled across the sofa, his head resting in James’s lap where James could carefully run his hand over his arm and think about how the Commander had wanted him to sleep through getting to meet him.

The episode they were watching ended and Clint fumbled with the remote to stop the next playing then let out a sigh and rolled over onto his back to look up at James’s face.

“How’re you doing?”

James considered the question. “About the best I can remember being.”

Clint’s face lit up with one of his blinding grins and James felt a surge of want. He wanted to bend over and kiss it off his face, but it didn’t feel like he quite knew how yet, for all that he was getting back the memories of having kissed other people. None of them had been Clint, none of them had even come close to being as important as he was. James didn’t want to mess this up.

Which meant he had to be honest with him. He couldn’t keep Clint in the dark about everything that James had been, not if he wanted to build something with him that would endure.

“The people after me,” he forced himself to say and it came out very softly, but clear enough for Clint to hear from the way his eyes went wide, “they’re called Hydra. They’re terrorists.”

He couldn’t stand looking at Clint’s face for the next bit, so he leaned back against the sofa and looked up at the ceiling.

“I was their assassin,” he said, and felt Clint tense. He carefully moved his hands away from him so that he could move if he wanted, get away from the killer he’d let into his home. “I was a soldier, but I fell,” he carried on, forcing out the words of the story he’d only recently pieced together from scattered memories. “I lost my arm, and I shoulda died. But they found me instead. They gave me a new arm, and they…” he hesitated, because he didn’t want to use the clinical words that the technicians had always used, but he didn’t know how else to frame exactly what Hydra had done to him. “They messed with my mind,” he said instead. “They made me forget who I was, made me loyal and obedient, and then sent me out on missions for them, killing people who were working against them. I don’t remember most of what came before them now, although I’m getting tiny pieces back now.”

Clint hadn’t moved away yet. James wondered if he was too shocked, or too afraid of him.

“When there wasn’t a mission, they froze me,” he continued, determined to get it all out now so he never had to talk about it again. “Sometimes for years. Decades. I’m- I don’t remember when I was born, but the war I was fighting in was against the Nazis, in Italy.”

Clint did move at that, but only the faintest twitch. James took a deep breath. “I got away,” he said, “but they’ll never stop hunting me. And they know I was going to be meeting my soulmate, they’ll want you as well. To kill you or use you to control me, or...I don’t know what they’d do to you.”

He could feel tears on his face. He didn’t bother wiping them away, too focused on the weight of Clint’s head in his lap and waiting for it to leave and never come back.

Clint let out a long sigh. “Shit, James,” he muttered, and then he did move, sitting up. James clenched his hands into fists and kept looking at the ceiling, not wanting to see the look on Clint’s face.

The soft touch of a hand to his cheek was a complete surprise, and he couldn’t stop his eyes darting to stare at the sad look on Clint’s face. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

The understanding and sympathy in his voice felt like too much for James to cope with. All the tangled mess of emotions he’d been bottling up in his chest broke open and he found himself crying properly, heavy sobs being pulled out of his lungs as he curled over to try and hide his reaction. 

“Oh, hey, no, you’re okay, you’re okay now,” said Clint, wrapping himself around James and holding on tight.

“I’m putting you in danger,” James managed to force out.

“No,” said Clint, stroking a hand over his back and then pressing a swift kiss to the side of James’s head. “No, fuck that, if anyone’s putting me in danger, it’s those assholes.”

James shook his head in denial, because if he’d never come anywhere near Clint, or even if he’d just given him the scarf and then left him alone to live his life, he wouldn’t be at risk of being targeted by an international terrorist organisation.

“Besides, I’ve spent a good couple of years preparing for you, and that’s included security systems and learning all kinds of fancy fighting styles, not to mention all the weapons stashed around the apartment,” added Clint.

 _Or having the Black Widow as your best friend_ , James thought but didn’t say, because it had been clear from how Clint had talked about her that he didn’t have a clue who Natasha really was. James had recognised her from the photo almost immediately, even if the smile on her face had been unfamiliar from either the files he’d been given to read about her or the one time they’d crossed paths and he’d put a bullet in her.

James wasn’t keen on finding out how she felt about her best friend’s soulmate being the assassin who had shot her. He’d tucked that away to be dealt with later because Clint was more important right now.

Clint held him close and kept gently petting him until the flood of tears had abated. James took a deep breath and then pulled away from him, just far enough to look into Clint’s face and see the steady look on his face, without a trace of regret or blame under it.

“Thank you,” he said, feeling awkward about just how completely his emotions had taken him over. He’d done the same thing to Clint the previous night as well. At some point he needed to get a grip on himself.

“You’re very welcome,” said Clint. “Whatever you need.” He kissed the side of James’s head again and he felt himself slumping into it, the affection and care implied sinking into his bones like nothing he’d felt for years. Decades. “Listen, you can definitely say no and stay down here and I won’t be mad or anything, but I want you to know you’ve got the option. If you want, you can come up and share my bed tonight. Just to sleep.”

James thought about being able to lie next to Clint, listening to his breathing all night, knowing he was safe and close, and found himself nodding before he’d managed to put together the words. “Yes. Yes, please,” he said.

Clint smiled. “Okay, let’s do that then.”

****

When Monday morning came, Clint didn’t want to go to work.

Which wasn’t all that different from most Mondays, for all that he loved that he’d managed to find a way to make archery pay the bills. No one wanted to get up on a Monday morning and go and do paid employment when they could stay in bed and nap a bit longer.

And they especially didn’t want to when they had their soulmate in bed with them, hair spread all over the pillow and a faint frown forming as he blinked awake.

“It’s early,” he said, then pulled his hands out from under the covers to hesitantly sign it, clearly having spotted that Clint hadn’t put his hearing aids in yet.

Clint rubbed a hand over his face and shrugged at him. “Work,” he said. “Sorry, man.”

James’s sulky expression at that was so cute that Clint almost leaned in to kiss it off his face, but for all that they’d shared the bed for two nights now, and got pretty close on the sofa during the day, they hadn’t taken that step just yet.

“I’m gonna have a shower and then coffee,” he said instead, “but after that I’ll be gone, if you want to go back to sleep.”

The frown on James’s face creased further and he sat up. “I’ll make coffee,” he signed. He didn’t have the biggest vocabulary in ASL, but he was clearly keen to try and expand it. Clint got all warm all over if he thought about that too much, because no one else had ever wanted to put that much effort into talking to Clint.

“You’re an angel,” said Clint as he got out of bed. As he turned towards the bathroom, he saw a shocked, blank look take over James’s face at the pet name and thought that maybe he should try out a few others on him. _Snugglebuns_ was bound to go down well.

When he was dressed and headed downstairs, James had coffee and a bowl of cereal waiting for him, and was dressed as well. He waited until Clint was settled down and tucking into his breakfast, thinking how nice it was to have someone else deal with the coffee machine when Clint’s brain was still waking up, before speaking.

“I’m coming with you.”

Clint blinked at him. “To my work? Ah, that’s a nice idea, but you’re going to be bored shitless. It’s all beginner archery and private lessons for spoilt kids today, most of which you wouldn’t be able to come in to.”

James’s jaw clenched. “I need to keep you safe.”

Clint carefully set his mug down. “Am I in that much danger?”

“If they catch you-” started James, and Clint interrupted him, because he’d already heard that, and was already quietly freaking out about all the implications of what James had told him about his past. He wasn’t ready to think about it properly, not until he was alone where James couldn’t read his thoughts off his face.

“How likely is that? Be honest with me, James, if they’re likely to track you here then I shouldn’t be going to work at all, even with a bodyguard, we should just both be getting the hell out of New York and finding somewhere to hide.” James’s eyes went wide, as if he hadn’t considered that, so Clint leaned in towards him to make his point. “I’ve got nothing in New York that’s worth staying here for if it puts us at risk,” he said. “If we need to go, then let’s go. You’re the expert; how much danger are we in?”

James was very quiet for a moment, clearly thinking that through, and Clint went back to his breakfast.

“They won’t have been able to track me,” said James eventually. “I went halfway around the globe, multiple methods of transport, did some zig-zagging around. There’s no way they could have followed me. And I’ve been careful, my face isn’t on any CCTV. We don’t need to leave; it’s as safe here as anywhere else we could go.”

“Okay, awesome,” said Clint. “Then you need to trust that I’ll be okay living my life, and that you don’t need to follow me around.”

James scowled. “Fine,” he gritted out.

“Instead,” said Clint, draining the last of his coffee and standing up, “how about you go get yourself some stuff. More clothes, maybe a phone? If you get one with a camera, you can send me photos of any dogs you might see.”

James perked right up at that idea, as Clint had hoped he would. He dug out a spare key, scrawled down his phone number so that if James did get a phone he could text Clint, and then hovered awkwardly by the front door, not sure how to say goodbye.

“Have a good day,” said James uncertainly, apparently just as unsure about how they should be doing this.

Clint snorted. “Unlikely, when I’ll spend it thinking about how I could be here snuggling with you on the sofa.”

James found a smile at that, and the result was breath-taking. God, he was so damn handsome, how had Clint got so lucky?

“Maybe I’ll send you a photo of where you could be then, as well as the dogs.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” said Clint, then glanced at the time and winced. “Okay, I really have to go.” He moved towards James, hesitated when he still wasn’t sure what to do, then gave in and just wrapped him up in a hug. “I’ll be back about half past five, okay?”

“I’ll be counting the hours,” said James, holding on to Clint tightly enough to squeeze his lungs for an instant, then easing up.

Clint gave him another smile then forced himself to go, because he was already going to have to jog to be on time.

****

James waited for a couple of minutes after Clint had left, then followed him. He stayed a block or two back, trailing him all the way to the range. He found a way up to the rooftop opposite and stayed crouched on it for nearly an hour, watching the flow of people going into the building and passing by, checking for anything that seemed off.

There was nothing. Nothing that even faintly looked wrong, and nothing that James could pinpoint as Hydra. He let out a deep breath, glancing around the area one last time before climbing down from the roof and heading to buy a phone, so he could go to the dog park and sent Clint some photos.

Walking around the neighbourhood opened up more memories, in a way he hadn’t expected. He passed an alleyway and had a sudden image of a tiny blond boy pulling himself to his feet and wiping blood off his chin with a glare. There was a woman in the phone store with a kid who wouldn’t stop running around, and something in the exhausted, fond tone of her voice made him picture another woman, one with grey starting to streak through her dark hair. In the park, he passed a swingset and remembered the feel of the chains under his hands, the weightlessness of soaring through the air.

None of it was enough to really tell him anything about what his life had been like, but every tiny scrap felt like another victory over Hydra. They’d tried to take away who he was, but it was still there, lurking down deep, and he might be able to get it back if he had enough time to do so.

He’d be able to make himself into someone more like the person Clint deserved.

The photos he sent to Clint were gratefully received, if the string of heart emojis were anything to go by. He got a photo in return as well, one of Clint beaming up at his phone with the range behind him, captioned _Haven’t been able to stop grinning, I think my boss is getting concerned._

James was back in the apartment by then and he hunched over the phone, running a fingertip over the screen. God, his soulmate was so beautiful. He couldn’t wait for him to get back home.

****

Every photo that James sent made Clint’s chest glow with warmth. Not just because the dogs were all cute, but also because it meant that Clint’s soulmate was thinking of him, and wanted to make him smile by sending over dog pics.

His soulmate. Even after the weekend to try and get used to that, he hadn’t managed to get his head around it. 

He hadn’t managed to get his head around what James had told him, either. He was old enough to have fought in the same war as Clint’s grandpa, he’d been brainwashed and forced to carry out assassinations, he had a terrorist group coming after him. It was way more than Clint had been prepared for, even with the cupboard full of weapons he’d collected.

If Clint had any sense, he’d have taken James up on his offer to disappear and leave Clint alone, but no one had ever accused Clint of having any sense.

Besides, it was _James_. Even after only a couple of days, Clint couldn’t imagine letting him just go away and not want to follow after him. He wasn’t just beautiful, he was fierce and kind and perfect to snuggle with, and the more he relaxed the more he smiled, and even started making jokes, and Clint couldn’t wait to find out how that part of him blossomed over the next few months. Or years.

No matter what happened, or who came after James, Clint wasn’t willing to give that up. Not even if it put him at risk of being captured and tortured by terrorists.

Maybe he was as dumb as everyone had always told him he was, but even after several hours thinking about it at the range, running through every possibility and trying his best to be objective, and not just thinking about how he wanted to see James smile at him every morning as he woke up, his mind was still made up. He wasn’t going to be scared off, not when his soulmate so obviously needed him.

“You know, you’re being really weird today,” said Kate as they cleared up after the afternoon session.

“Am I?” asked Clint as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

Her eyes narrowed. “You keep grinning to yourself.”

“A guy’s allowed to be happy.”

“And checking your phone.”

“No point in having one if you don’t keep an eye on incoming messages.”

“You’ve been wearing that scarf all day.”

“There’s a bit of a chill in here,” said Clint, keeping his hands from going up to stroke over the soft wool of the scarf through a sheer act of will.

Kate didn’t look convinced. “I’m gonna find out what it is, old man.”

“Probably,” agreed Clint, “but not today. It’s your turn to lock up, remember?”

He gave her the smuggest grin he could manage, which earned him a scowl and an eye roll, then headed to the break room to get his coat. He was more than ready to go home and see James again.

He thought briefly about taking back coffee for both of them, then realised he didn’t want to waste any more time than he had to before being back where he could hold James in his arms again and maybe talk him into watching more _Dog Cops_.

The walk home usually took twenty minutes but today he all but jogged it, striding along and ducking around slower walkers. He was only two blocks away from his building, able to see the windows of his apartment and start trying to spot James through them, when a van pulled into an alleyway in front of him and stopped, blocking the sidewalk so he had to slow his steps.

He was about to swerve around the back of it, out into the road, when the back doors opened and several men jumped out, wearing body armour and carrying guns. They headed straight for him.


	3. Chapter 3

James had been waiting for about fifteen minutes on the rooftop opposite the range when Clint came out. He followed him from up high all the way back to his street, jogging to keep up with his pace while climbing across buildings. Once they got within sight of Clint’s building, he sped up to make sure he’d be there first so Clint wouldn’t know he’d been following him.

Which meant he wasn’t looking when the van pulled up and by the time he glanced back at the sound of a scream, he was too far away. He sprinted across the roofs, heart in his mouth as he watched Clint get surrounded by men, throw a punch at one that knocked him back, and then a very solid kick at another, before another of them hit him with a taser. His body was twitching as he was dragged into the van. 

James jumped down to the street, feeling the heavy thud reverberate up his legs as he landed on the sidewalk, and forced himself to keep moving as the van pulled away, tires squealing. He pulled a gun out and fired after it, running past shocked civilians as his heart thumped with panic and fear.

_No, no, no,_ pounded through his head as the van sped off out of sight, faster than he’d ever be able to catch it.

Clint was gone.

James had thought he’d known pain before, he’d thought the chair had taught him everything about it in excruciating detail, but nothing he’d felt under Hydra’s hands had come close to this. It felt like his chest had been cracked open and his heart torn out.

The one thing he’d wanted to make sure never happened had taken less than a minute to unfold in front of him. Clint was hurt and in Hydra’s hands, and God only knew what they’d do with him.

They hadn’t shot him on sight so they must want to keep him alive, but James could only imagine horrible reasons for that.

“Uh, dude?”

He spun around to find a college-aged boy in a neon orange beanie holding out a phone. “They dropped this. You know that guy, right? Do you think it will help the police?”

James snatched it from his hand. It was Clint’s phone and his hand tightened around it as he thought about all the ways he could have tracked it if they hadn’t ditched it.

“I didn’t want some asshole to steal it,” said the kid.

James was beyond being able to speak right now, but he forced himself to meet the kid’s eyes and give him a nod of thanks.

The phone vibrated in his hands and he looked down at it, at the photo Clint had set as his lock screen of one of the dogs James had seen that day. An unknown number was calling.

He hit answer and held it to his ear, but didn’t speak.

“You know how this goes,” said the Commander’s voice and James twitched, looking around to see if he was being watched. “You belong to us and now so does your soulmate. You’re going to come back to us, or he’ll pay for it.”

He hung up without saying anything else and James let out a long, slow breath, his brain clicking into mission mode. He didn’t have the time or the energy to waste on giving into the emotional blackhole opening in his stomach. He had one chance to save Clint, and he wasn’t going to lose it.

He strode away from where the kid was still staring at him, heading towards Clint’s apartment and sending a text from Clint’s phone at the same time.

To: Nat  
 _Black Widow, this is Clint’s soulmate. Clint’s in danger. We need to meet somewhere off-grid asap._

****

Clint had experienced a lot of pain in his life: cuts and bruises, the occasional broken bone, most memorably being skewered with an arrow. Or at least, most memorably until just now. Being tasered was definitely a new low.

He was still twitching from the electricity in the back of the van as they sped away. He tried to sit up, weakly aiming a fist at the nearest thug, and just got punched hard enough to end up on his back again.

“Fucking assholes,” he managed to get out between clenched teeth.

“Oh, you’ve got no idea,” said one of them, giving him a malicious grin. He punched Clint again and he blacked out.

When Clint woke up, he was being dragged through a concrete hallway by two of guards, his shoes scraping on the ground. The other guards were around them, all holding their guns, and Clint just blinked at them, trying to gather his wits.

Shit. This was exactly what James had been so scared of. He must be going out of his mind.

They carried Clint into a room before he could manage to get his feet under him to walk under his own steam, then dumped him on the floor. Clint collapsed down, trying to get a response from his limbs and not getting very far. Everything felt weak and twitchy in the wake of the taser.

The room was a concrete box with no windows. Against one wall was a set of weird machines and equipment, including a terrifying chair with mechanical parts built all round it, like some kind of sci-fi torture device. The other side of the room had a rack of weapons along it, all neatly arranged.

There was a small cluster of people in the centre of the room; two men in white labcoats who were nodding along while a man in an expensive suit said something to them that Clint couldn’t hear.

The man in a suit glanced over at Clint, then turned back to the lab coats to add something else that made them nod and scurry off. Clint flexed his fingers and tried to get his legs under him to stand up, but was pushed back down by a hard hand on his shoulder before he could manage it.

“This is him?” asked the man in a suit, walking over. “He’s not what I had expected.”

“Definitely him,” said the guard who had punched Clint in the van. “Look at the scarf. Besides, the Asset was watching him. He tried to get after us, but he was too slow.”

James. Oh god, had James seen Clint get kidnapped? 

The thought stoked Clint’s anger into flame because James didn’t deserve this, he deserved to be wrapped up in blankets and given nice things, not to watch what had clearly been his worst nightmare come to life.

“You fucking assholes,” he spat out, and struggled to his feet again. This time they didn’t try to stop him but once he was upright the two guards on each side of him took hold of his shoulders, keeping him from punching the guy like he deserved. “Let me go.”

The man just laughed. “Oh, I’m afraid the only way you’ll be leaving our care is in a bodybag. Do you know who we are?”

“Sadistic fuckers,” said Clint, and managed to gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit at him. It didn’t have the force to do more than land on the floor at his feet, but it made Clint feel better.

“We are Hydra,” said the man. “My name is Alexander Pierce. Your soulmate is extremely important to us, and you are the perfect way to control him.”

Clint’s rage stoked up to a higher level, matched by horrified desperation as just how much trouble he was in sunk in. He tried to pull away from the guards holding him in place. Given that he was still weak from the taser and being knocked out, they didn’t have to work hard to keep him in place. “Fuck you,” he growled instead.

Pierce just smiled at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to become friends,” he said. “Unless I decide the Asset would be easier controlled without you around, of course. But first, we’ll need you to bring him back in.”

He stepped back and nodded at the guard. “You know what to do, Rumlow.”

“Of course, boss,” said the leader of the guards, who must be Rumlow. Pierce moved back out of the way as Rumlow pulled out a phone. “On his knees,” he said to the two guards holding on to Clint.

They forced Clint down to his knees, then Rumlow took a photo of him glaring up at the phone with all the hatred he could summon.

Rumlow glanced at the photo then shook his head slightly. “Nah, needs more blood.”

He snapped a fist at Clint before he had time to prepare, catching him right on the jaw and splitting his lip.

“Perfect,” said Rumlow. “Smile for your soulmate.”

Clint glowered at him as he took another photo, feeling weak and helpless and hating every moment. He thought he’d left this feeling behind when he’d left the circus, when he’d decided to build a life for himself that didn’t involve violence.

He should have known there was no way for him to escape it.

Rumlow’s fingers danced over the phone, then he looked up at Clint with a grin. “Sent. That should get him to come running back to us.”

“Put him in a cell,” said Pierce. “Don’t rough him up too much, we’ll need him to get the Asset back in line.”

“Fuck you,” said Clint again. “You haven’t got a fucking clue. He’s not going to let you do this.”

Pierce laughed. “Oh, you have no idea what he’s let us do to him,” he said. “He just sat still and quiet while we moulded him into exactly what we needed him to be. He’s our obedient little puppet, or he was. And he will be again, now that we’ve got you as leverage.”

The desperate hopelessness sank through Clint’s stomach as he was pulled to his feet and marched off down more corridors to one lined with heavy metal doors with barred windows set in them. They stopped outside one and Rumlow unlocked it, then turned to where Clint was being tightly held.

“I really hate this fucking thing,” said Rumlow, and pulled the purple scarf off Clint’s neck in a harsh move that nearly made Clint choke for a moment before the scarf pulled free.

“Hey! That’s mine!” he shouted, pulling forward against the hands holding him in place. 

Rumlow just laughed as he tucked it away. “And you’re ours now,” he said. “Everything you have and are belongs to us. Just like your soulmate.” He stepped back and gestured at the cell, and Clint was pushed into it, landing on his ass.

“You fucking bastards,” he shouted, scrambling to his feet as the door was swung shut and locked again. He thumped uselessly at it, but the only response was laughter echoing down the corridor as Rumlow and his men walked away.

****

The Black Widow didn’t come alone. James hadn’t really expected her to, but there was something about the vague shadow of Captain America standing outside the abandoned warehouse that made his chest clench tight, as if he recognised the silhouette.

Had he fought against him at some time? Had he been a mission? There was something in the set of his shoulders that pulled a tangle of conflicted emotions up in James’s chest.

He didn’t have time for emotions, though. The only thing that mattered was Clint.

Falcon was also outside the warehouse, watching the back entrance, but it was easy enough to evade both of them, climbing in through a skylight and then down some of the empty racking to where Black Widow was standing, looking impatient. He made sure to make enough noise to catch her attention as he jumped down the final distance to the floor, and she turned to look at him.

He’d gone to Clint’s apartment and put all his combat gear back on, finding a place for every knife and gun he had, and tucking all the extra weapons that Clint had bought for him away as well. It was clear from the momentary stillness that she recognised him, but she didn’t move to draw a weapon as James had feared she would. He didn’t have time for a fight.

“Winter Soldier,” she said, and he knew it was as much for the benefit of those listening in to her comms as a greeting.

“Black Widow,” he replied.

“I’m meant to believe _you’re_ Clint’s soulmate?” she asked, running her eyes over him.

James knew just how dangerous she was and he itched to move away towards cover, but he forced himself to step forward instead. He needed her help. Clint needed her help.

“He’s been kidnapped by Hydra,” he said, and she raised one eyebrow but didn’t look completely surprised. She must have heard a report of Clint being taken already. Hydra hadn’t exactly been subtle by snatching him off the street like that, and he imagined she’d have tried to contact Clint as soon as James texted her.

“And why would Hydra be interested in a guy who works at an archery range?” she asked rather pointedly.

“Because of me,” said James, and the words felt like ash in his mouth. He lost some of the composure he was clinging to, his face creasing for a moment with the sheer desperate fear thrumming through him. “Because I escaped them and they want me back.”

“Escaped,” she repeated, quietly. “Exactly what-”

James didn’t have time for this. Every moment he wasted here, trying to persuade her that this wasn’t some kind of trap, was another moment Clint was in Hydra’s hands. He pulled Clint’s phone out of his pocket and she stepped back, pulling a gun and pointing it at him. He ignored her, unlocking the phone and flicking to the two photos that had come through about an hour ago, of Clint on his knees, hurt and bloody and looking so angry that James could almost feel it radiating from the picture.

“Look,” he said, holding it out to her. “You don’t have to trust me, I understand why you wouldn’t, but Clint needs your help.”

She regarded him for a moment, then tucked the gun away and reached out for the phone. She looked at the photos in silence, then flicked down to read the message underneath.

_Come back in, Soldier._

That was all. They hadn’t needed to add any threats, not when James knew exactly what they were capable of.

“He told me you were his best friend,” he said. “He told me all about spending nights out with you, how you don’t like _Dog Cops_ but will sit through it with him if he provides vodka, how he has no idea what your job is. Who you are.” She twitched very slightly at that, not even enough to be a flinch, but he caught the movement and knew he’d hit a sore point. 

“You can’t leave him with them,” he said, rather than pressing at it.

“I don’t intend to,” she said. “None of us do.” She looked him over again, then back at his face. “Blankets and knives,” she said quietly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

James tightened his jaw and just jerked a nod, because he wasn’t sure he could talk about the preparations Clint had made for him without breaking down. They’d only had one weekend together before James’s past had ruined it all. Even if they managed to rescue Clint before Hydra did anything truly awful to him, why on earth would he ever want James around again?

Everything they could have had was already out of James’s reach. All he could do now was get Clint back and make sure he was safe and protected. Even if that meant never seeing him again.

“Are you going to help?” he pressed.

Black Widow gave a grim nod and James felt relief spill through him that he wouldn’t have to do this alone. “We’re already tracking the van to try and find where they took him but they’re good, it’s not proving very easy.”

“I know exactly where he is,” said James. The room in the background of the photos was clear enough for James to recognise which base it was, just as he’d been meant to. “But I can’t go in alone. They’ll be expecting me, they’ll be ready.”

“But they won’t be expecting you to have back up,” said Black Widow.

“No,” agreed James, and reached out his hand to take the phone back from her. “That’s our only chance. If they get both me and him, they won’t ever let either of us go, but they’d never once think I’d go to the Avengers for help.”

She gave him a long, steady look, clearly debating her options. “You’re not going to agree to telling us where he is and then staying out of it,” she said.

“No,” agreed James, and clenched his hands into fists at the idea of just standing back and letting someone else rescue Clint. “Please, he’s the only thing that matters to me. We have to get him back.”

“Don’t worry,” said a voice from behind James, “we won’t leave him with them.”

James turned around to see that Captain America and Falcon had come inside the warehouse, clearly having heard enough of the conversation through Black Widow’s comms to know she’d agreed to work with him.

Captain America’s eyes widened and he let out shocked gasp. “Bucky?”

James frowned at him. “My name is James.”

Captain America shook his head weakly, stepping forward, and James took a step backwards. “Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve.” He pulled back his cowl, revealing blond hair and a face that did spark a sense of familiarity in the depths of James’s mind.

He stared at him for a moment, then gave a shrug. “If I once knew you, I don’t any more,” he said, “Whoever I was before Hydra had me is long gone.” He looked back at Black Widow. “Like Clint will be if we don’t move fast.”

“Bucky, I thought you were dead,” said Captain America, taking another step forward and stretching out his hand.

“Wait, Bucky _Barnes_?” said Falcon, and gave James a long look that made James itch with discomfort, then let out a long, low whistle. “Holy shit, it is him.”

“That’s very interesting,” said Black Widow, also staring at James as if seeing him for the first time.

“I don’t care,” said James, taking another step away from Captain America, sick tension floating through his stomach. “It doesn’t matter who the hell you think I am. We need to focus on Clint, before they properly hurt him.”

“Bucky, please,” said Captain America again, but James resolutely ignored him, fixing his gaze on Black Widow.

“How quickly can you be ready?”

“As soon as you can tell us everything you know,” she said. “Including exactly what they did to you, and what they might do to Clint.”

James let out a sigh, but nodded. He’d hoped he’d never have to go through a debrief again but it was the least he’d do for Clint. He could tell them what Hydra had turned him into, and how they’d use Clint against him. Would they put him through the chair as well, wipe out all his silly jokes and lopsided grins? James shuddered at the idea of it. “Not here.”

“I have a safe house,” she said, and looked at Captain America. “Steve, we’ll figure this out there.”

Captain America reluctantly nodded, not taking his eyes off James’s face. James did his best to ignore him as he followed Black Widow out of the warehouse.

****

There was no way out of the cell. Clint hadn’t really expected there to be, not if this organisation was as efficient as James had made them sound, but it had still been demoralising to realise there was nothing he could do about the lock on the door. He didn’t spend his teenage years being a delinquent with a knack for lock-picking only to find he couldn’t pick the one lock he really needed to.

There wasn’t much else in the room. Someone had dumped a blanket in one corner and a bucket in another, but other than that there wasn’t even a window. Just bare, cold concrete. Clint curled up with the blanket wrapped around him and thought miserably about how he should have just told James that they’d go on the run this morning, or at least let him come to work with him.

He ran his hands through his hair, clenching tight for an instant to feel the pain of it. Fuck, _fuck_ , what the hell were they going to do? James was going to walk right back into the trap he’d already escaped and then they’d both be prisoners. For the rest of their lives.

And it would be Clint’s fault. He’d been too naive, too ready to just trust to the warm glow that he got whenever he was around James, too stupidly happy to consider how easily it could all go wrong.

If they got out of this one okay, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He’d let James take them somewhere miles away from anyone, somewhere they’d never get found, and surround them with all the security he wanted. 

A good few hours passed, although Clint didn’t have any idea how many. At one point, a bottle of water and a bowl of some kind of tasteless mush were pushed through a flap at the bottom of the door, but there was nothing else. No sign that James had come, which Clint tried to take as a good sign. It was hard when there was a voice in the back of his head wondering just what Pierce and his thugs would do to him if James decided he preferred his freedom to his soulmate.

It would make sense for him to make that decision, after all. He’d only known Clint a few days and he’d spent decades being tortured and abused by these assholes. If he had any sense he’d cut and run, get as far away as possible. It wasn’t as if Hydra were going to let Clint go either way.

He clutched tighter to his knees, pressing his forehead against them and struggled to get his emotions under control.

There was a heavy clunk from the door as it was unlocked and he instantly straightened up, washing all his emotions off his face. He wasn’t going to let these assholes see he was upset.

It was Rumlow and two of his men. They grabbed Clint and dragged him out of the cell, ignoring his exclamations that he was perfectly able to walk on his own.

“Shut up or we’ll gag you,” said Rumlow, then grinned. “Might do that anyway, it’s not like anybody’s going to be interested in what you have to say from now on. I can’t imagine the Asset is much of a conversationalist.”

Clint thought about the weekend he and James had just spent, and how they hadn’t stopped talking for most of it, and glared at him.

“I bet he’s a brutal fuck though,” said one of the others. “Your ass musta got a pounding.”

Rumlow laughed. Clint clenched his jaw and carefully didn’t say anything, because the last thing he wanted to do was to talk about James with these assholes.

They took him to a room filled with surveillance equipment, including a wall of screens showing different views of the base. Clint stared at them, trying to get an idea of what the place was like and how to get to an exit in case he got a chance, but the screens kept flicking between different views and it was all just a mess of concrete corridors and worrying-looking labs.

“Mr Barton,” said Pierce, and Clint turned his attention to where he was standing in front of a screen showing a map of New York and the surrounding area. A blinking red dot was showing in Hells Kitchen. “It would seem that despite our messages, you’re not enough bait on your own to get our soldier to come in from the cold. We’re going to up the ante.”

Clint blinked at him, then back at the map. “You’re tracking him?”

“Of course,” said Pierce. “You don’t own something as valuable as the Asset without tagging it. We could have recaptured him at any time, but it seemed to make more sense to wait until he’d met you. All those soulmate preparations were getting in the way of his programming, but we won’t have to worry about that any more, now you’ve met.”

The way Pierce talked about James like he was property rather than a person was making Clint feel sick.

“We could just go and pick him up now, of course,” carried on Pierce, “but I think it’s a much more instructive lesson if he comes in of his own accord, don’t you? He needs to learn that his place is here and he doesn’t get any other choice.”

He nodded at Rumlow, who forced Clint down onto his knees, then grabbed his hair to pull his head back, holding a knife to his throat. Clint felt it scrape against the skin of his Adam’s apple and tried not to move, glaring at Pierce with all the fury he was feeling. Pierce just smiled back.

Another of the guards took a photo of Clint, then Rumlow threw Clint down against the floor, rolling him over onto his back and put his boot on his chest, holding him down as he looked over at Pierce. “How badly?”

“Make it look good, but nothing permanent,” said Pierce, which was all the warning Clint got before Rumlow moved his foot to kick Clint hard in the side instead.

Clint had known how to take a beating since he was a kid. He rolled onto his side, curling up to try and protect himself, and just gritted his teeth against the pain.

It didn’t last long and then they dragged him up, posing him to show the newly-forming bruises and took another photo. Knowing that it was about to be sent to James, Clint tried his best to convey with his eyes that he was fine and James should stay clear and do whatever he needed to do, but he wasn’t sure he was very successful.

“Very good,” said Pierce. “Let’s hope that makes him hurry up.” He gave Clint a very worrying smile. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy what we’ll have to do next if it doesn’t.”

Clint glared at him but didn’t bother with words. He let them drag him back to his cell, trying to catch his breath around the pain of the bruises, and then slumped into the corner again.

They were so fucked. How were they going to find any way out of this?

****

It took too long for James to tell the Avengers everything he knew about Hydra, during which time Captain America just stared at him with a deeply emotional look that made James very uncomfortable. When James had finished, he explained, in a voice that broke a couple of times, that they’d been friends before, when they’d been kids. He described watching James fall from a train in the mountains and how they’d all thought he’d been dead, and James got a flash of dark rocks standing out in the white of a snowfield and a blinding pain in his shoulder.

He pushed it back and just shrugged at him.

“I don’t remember that now,” he said, and it didn’t feel like a complete lie, even if he was starting to recall tiny scraps of it, if he concentrated. He didn’t want to concentrate on anything other than Clint right now though, and he said as much. “Help me get him out and then you can tell me about playing ball in the street or whatever.”

Captain America’s jaw clenched so tightly James thought he might crack his teeth, then he nodded and abruptly went very professional and efficient, snapping out orders and laying out a plan. 

“Protecting Clint and getting him safe is our first priority,” he said, which James very much approved of, “but we should also focus on taking out the whole base, if we can, and getting any intel we can from their computers.”

“I’m going to burn it to the ground,” said James, which earned him an exasperated look that he ignored. Those assholes had stolen his life, his choices, even who he was from him, and now they’d taken his soulmate as well. He was going to destroy everything he could.

“Awesome,” said the Falcon, “this is going to be a whole hell of a lot of fun, I can tell.”

James just glowered at him.

They gave him one of their comm units so that once they were at the base and slipping into position, he could hear them quietly exchanging updates. He ignored it all, just focusing on the entrance he was hiding in front of and the two shadowy figures of guards he could see next to it.

“We’re all in place, Bucky. Make your move,” said Captain America’s voice.

James gritted his teeth against the nickname he didn’t recognise but started moving anyway. He stalked right up to the entrance, glaring at the guards, but didn’t pull out any of the wide range of weapons on his person.

“Soldier,” said one of the guards with a nod. “We were told you’d be turning up.”

James shot him a look that stopped his mouth, but stayed where he was as the door opened and the handler came out.

“About damn time,” he said. “We were about to go for another round of kicking your boyfriend’s teeth in.”

James wasn’t able to keep quiet at the reminder that Clint was close, and hurt. “Where is he?”

“Ah, patience,” said the handler. “You’ll see him soon enough. First though, I think you owe us an apology for running off like that, don’t you?”

James gritted his teeth, but he knew how this game went. He’d been forced to play it all too many times. “I apologise,” he forced out. In his ear he could hear someone make a deeply angry sound that he ignored.

The handler grinned with malicious delight. “And you know what other words I want to hear from you, don’t you?”

James stiffened his pose so it looked like he was standing to attention and not tensing every muscle to keep himself from just reaching out and crushing the man’s throat. “Ready to comply.”

This time it was an actual bitten-off swear word on the comms.

“Good boy,” said the handler, then he stood back and gestured at the door. “Let’s go.”

Just inside the door was an antechamber with a security booth, filled with guards. There was also a semi-automatic gun mounted where it could take out anyone coming through the door. James waited until the handler had led him past it, doing his best to keep his demeanor as obedient as it had ever been but something must have given him away, or perhaps the handler wasn’t prepared to be trusting after the bodies James had left in his wake the last time he’d been in a Hydra base.

Either way, when James pulled out a gun and aimed for his head, the handler was already moving, so the bullet flew harmlessly by his ear. James didn’t let that stop him, turning his fire on the huddled guards in the security room, taking out most of them before they’d had time to react, and then throwing himself behind the gun position when they started to retaliate.

“You little shit!” snapped the handler and started to fire back. James turned to send a shower of bullets at him and he escaped down a corridor, further into the base. A second later, an alarm started to go off.

The two guards outside came rushing in, obviously having heard the noise, and James shot them both, then pressed his comms.

“Entrance is mostly clear,” he said. “I’m advancing.”

“Mostly clear?” repeated Falcon. “What does that mean?”

James ignored him, because he’d left them three or four surprised and shaken guards to take out, cowering in the security room, and if the Avengers couldn’t handle that then they didn’t deserve their reputation. Instead, he set off after the handler, desperate to get to Clint before he did.

****

Clint had taken out his hearing aids in a doomed attempt to block out everything around him and get some sleep, but the alarm was loud enough for him to hear it without them and when he looked up he could see red lights flashing in the corridor outside his cell.

He put his aids back in and stood up to have a look out the tiny window in the door, but there was nothing to see.

Was this a good sign? Had James come for him?

Would it even be a good thing if he did? Should Clint be hoping he stayed away and didn’t risk getting captured?

There was the sound of gunfire off in the distance and Clint pressed his face closer to the bars, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. What the hell was going on?

There was the sound of heavy boots and Rumlow came around the corner, moving fast and with a handful of guards at his back.

“Get away from the door,” he spat at Clint, already pulling the keys out.

“What’s going on?” asked Clint, but Rumlow just glared at him.

“I will shoot you if you fuck with me,” he said, so Clint moved away from the door, letting him unlock it. Rumlow grabbed his elbow as soon as it was open and pushed him at the other guards, who grabbed Clint by the arms, and then they frogmarched him at double-quick time as something exploded far off in the distance.

“This is all a bit dramatic,” said Clint, pushing down the cold fear that had been steadily growing ever since the van had stopped in front of him. He wasn’t going to let it control him, which meant he needed to cling on to the layer of calm above the panic.

Rumlow turned around and slapped him, hard. “Shut up,” he hissed, and then started moving again, practically jogging now.

“You’re only really proving my point,” said Clint, and was ignored.

Clint had no idea where he was being taken, but he didn’t make it there. They were at a meeting of two corridors when one of the guards holding his arm suddenly went down with a cry of pain. Clint didn’t stop to check why, using everything he’d learnt at self-defence class to slam his fist into the other guard and following up with a kick that freed him from his grip.

“Don’t let him get away!” shouted Rumlow to the other guards, but they were too distracted to really focus on Clint. A lithe black figure had launched into them, moving with a speed and a grace that would have left Clint breathless if he’d had time to pause. He ducked as another guard tried to lay hands on him, coming up with a solid punch that laid the guard out, then grabbed a gun that had fallen to the floor. 

And hesitated.

He’d never killed anyone. That had been the line he’d refused to cross for the circus, and now here he was, right up against it again.

He didn’t need to. There was a flash of red hair and a sharp sound of electricity, and the guard closing in on him went down in a pile of twitching limbs. Clint got his first proper look at his saviour and realised he knew her all too well.

“Natasha?” he said, then took in her outfit. “Wait, Black Widow?”

“That’s me,” she said, and she barely sounded out of breath. Rumlow and the remaining guards were regrouping so she grabbed Clint’s arm, pulling him around the corner of the passage as he struggled to get his head around what was going on. There was scattered gunfire against the wall just as they got out of sight.

“What the _fuck_?!” exclaimed Clint. “Black fucking Widow? Are you fucking kidding me?”

She winced. “I’m not allowed to tell civilians.” She leaned out around the corner and sent a series of rapid shots back at the Hydra agents that made someone bark out a curse word.

“Civilians?” repeated Clint. “You’re my best friend! What the fuck, Natasha?”

“This is not the time,” she hissed, then pressed her hand to her ear. “I’ve got Clint, but we’re trapped. Need back-up.”

Clint glanced at the corridor they were in and realised it was a dead-end. There was a door behind them but when he tried to open it, it was locked.

“Shit,” he said. “Shit, Nat, what are we going to do?”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got back-up,” she said, and ducked out to lay down more covering fire. Clint wondered if he should be doing the same, but the gun in his hand still felt wrong. Fuck, he wanted to have his bow with him.

“Back-up,” he repeated, his brain catching up with itself. Of course, Black Widow was on the Avengers, with...shit. “Captain America?”

“Yeah,” said Natasha, then she sent him a split-second glance before adding, “Steve’s here.”

Steve. Right, of course. Clint had had Captain America in his apartment to watch baseball most weekends for over a year, and hadn’t noticed.

“You know, in hindsight that actually makes a lot of sense,” he said, thinking back to all the pop culture references Steve had missed. She snorted.

“He’s not the guy on his way, though,” she said, leaning back against the wall as another shower of bullets buried into the wall opposite them. “Your soulmate is incoming.”

“James,” said Clint, and a rush of relief slammed into him. “Oh fuck, he’s okay?”

He didn’t get a response because that was when the Hydra agents charged around the corner.

“Keep the Asset’s boy alive!” snapped Rumlow as Natasha threw herself at the front ranks, spinning into graceful combat as Clint backed up until he was against the locked door at the end of the tiny section of corridor. He gripped the gun for a moment then gave up on trying to pretend it hadn’t always been going to end like this, aiming at Rumlow and pulling the trigger. Rumlow moved at the last moment but Clint caught the agent behind him in the shoulder, and then kept shooting, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. These guys wanted to torture him, he was defending himself. It wasn’t the same as what Barney had wanted him to do.

He didn’t aim to kill though, keeping it to shots to their legs or arms, hopefully nothing that would come back to haunt him.

There were too many of them and they all converged on Natasha so that Clint had to watch his shots to make sure he didn’t hit her. All of them, that was, except for Rumlow. He pulled two heavy batons out and advanced on Clint, moving fast so that Clint’s first shot missed. The second time he pulled the trigger, the gun just clicked empty and Rumlow laughed at him.

“This is going to be fun,” he said, raising the batons.

Clint threw the gun at him and it smacked heavily into Rumlow’s body armour, driving some of the air out of his lungs and slowing him for a step or two. Clint glanced at Natasha but she was surrounded by agents still and clearly didn’t have time to help him out.

This was it. This was what all those martial arts and self-defence lessons had been for.

He squared up to Rumlow, wishing like hell he had a weapon. Rumlow struck at him with one of his batons and Clint darted to one side to avoid it, then pulled out some of his circus skills to somersault under the next one. 

Shit, that left him trapped in the dead-end with nowhere to run to. He tried to catch Rumlow with a kick from behind but he was already turning and it only glanced off, making him stumble but not stopping him from hitting out at Clint with a baton again.

The blow caught Clint on his shoulder with a sickening crack and Clint let out a yell of pain, then pushed himself not to stop moving, catching Rumlow with a solid punch that at least made him move back far enough for Clint to duck away again, cradling his throbbing arm to his chest.

He didn’t get far enough though, coming up against another wall. Natasha had been forced back around the corner so Clint couldn’t even see her any more, although he could hear gunshots and cries of pain that made him hope she wouldn’t take long before she came to his rescue.

He kicked out at Rumlow again, but it was a weak attempt that his kickboxing instructor would have tutted at and Rumlow easily avoided it. He slammed a baton into Clint’s ribs and he heard at least one crack as pain shot through him, making him yell out and fall to his knees, jarring his injured shoulder.

Rumlow laughed and raised the baton again. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

****

James couldn’t find Clint. He’d gone straight to the holding cells, killing any agents who tried to stop him, but he got there too late. All the cells were empty, including the one that must have held Clint. It had the door half-open and only a crumpled blanket in the corner to show it had once been occupied.

“Bucky, what’s your location?” snapped Captain America’s voice in his ear. James ignored it, sweeping down the corridor and trying to work out where they’d have taken Clint. Would they be trying to escape with him, or would they take him to a defensible central location to make a stand and use him as a hostage?

“Bucky, we need to know what’s going on,” said Captain America, and there was an irritated tone to his voice that pinged at buried memories, but James didn’t have the time to think about any of them. “Come on, Bucky, working with us will only get Clint out faster.”

James turned the corner into a troop of Hydra agents, loosely clustered behind a portable barricade. He moved into fight mode, barely needing to think as his body went through motions it knew too well.

“I’ve located Clint,” said Black Widow over the comms and James threw the agent he was fighting into the wall.

“Where?” he growled.

“Oh, now he speaks,” muttered Falcon. James ignored him, ears straining for the faintest word from Black Widow, but there was nothing but hard breathing and the occasional grunt of fighting. He shot the last agent crouching behind the barricade and leapt over it, striding down the corridor towards the part of the base where Widow had been the last time he’d paid attention to her check-in.

“Cap, I’m in the security centre,” said Falcon. “Looks like someone’s trying to escape from the back door. Fancy getaway vehicle and everything, so it must be a head guy.”

“I’m on my way,” said Stev- Captain America. He was Captain America, and he was helping James rescue Clint, and nothing else mattered.

“I’ve got Clint, but we’re trapped. Need backup,” said Black Widow tersely through the comms, and James sped up, fingers clenching around his gun. 

“On my way. Keep him safe.”

She didn’t bother replying and then there was nothing but the sound of fighting again, gun shots and the hard thump of bodies being hit.

Gun shots that James could hear ahead of him as well as through his earpiece. He sprinted towards them, shooting anyone who dared to get in his way until he burst through a set of doors into a corridor and found Black Widow at the end of it, fighting a whole troop of Hydra agents.

Alone.

“Where is he?” demanded James, shooting an agent before he could raise his gun.

Black Widow sent a high kick at another agent, ducking under a blow, and then jabbing her electric bracelet into his chest. “Around the corner,” she gritted out, and then flipped to one side as another two agents converged on her.

James charged through the fight. Several of the agents tried to stop him but he knocked them aside, shooting and punching his way through until he’d turned the corner.

Clint was there. Just seeing his face was a breath of fresh air James hadn’t known he needed.

And then he took in Clint’s position. He was crumpled on the floor, one arm cradled close to his chest as he stared up at the handler, who was raising a baton to strike him.

No.

The fear that sped through James’s heart was so sharp and cold that he didn’t trust himself to shoot straight. He just threw himself at the handler, knocking him away from Clint before his blow could fall.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he heard Clint breathe behind him, but he couldn’t spare the time to glance over. He’d trained with the handler and he’d seen him fight on missions, and he knew that he was fast and brutal. He couldn’t afford a moment of distraction, not when Clint’s life was on the line.

“Asset,” said the handler, grinning at him. “I’m gonna make you regret thinking you could cross us.”

James didn’t bother with conversation. He raised his gun but didn’t get to take a shot as the handler moved faster, slamming one baton down on James’s wrist, making him drop the gun, and then aiming a blow at his head with the other. James managed to dodge that one, pulling his heavy Ka-Bar knife out to replace his gun and throwing himself into the fight.

He was mindful of Clint behind him, of the quiet sounds of pain as Clint struggled to stand up, and he fought just as hard to keep the handler from getting within a few feet of Clint as he did to take him out completely. 

The handler caught him a hard blow in the gut with a baton and James crumpled down, then dodged to come up underneath his guard, striking out and catching his shoulder with his knife. The handler let out a grunt of pain and then head-butted James, making him reel back at the solid smash of pain.

The handler backed up a couple of paces, James’s knife still skewered through his shoulder. That arm had dropped to his side but he was still clinging to the baton in it, and his other one was raised and ready.

“Got your weapon,” said the handler, smirking at James as if getting skewered with a knife had been part of his plan.

“No problem,” said James, and pulled his second knife from the sheath behind his back. “My soulmate bought me another one.”

He heard a breathy laugh from behind him but resolutely kept his eyes front. The handler was wounded and bleeding, but he was still dangerous. You didn’t turn your back on a predator until they were stone-cold dead.

The amusement had finally been knocked off the handler’s face as James hefted the knife, already thinking about the best way to sink it into the handler’s throat. “Fine,” he spat. “I was hoping to make you bleed more first, but I guess it’s time to wrap this up.” He took a breath, and the next words out of his mouth were in Russian. “ _Longing. Rusted._ ”

James felt himself freeze up with horror as he felt the programming begin to take effect. “Stop,” he growled.

The handler started grinning again. “ _Furnace. Daybreak._ ”

Behind James, there was a shuffle of footsteps as Clint moved across the corridor. James really hoped he was getting out, escaping while he still could, before James became something he needed to run from.

“ _Seventeen. Benign._ ”

“Shut the fuck up,” interrupted Clint, and then a shot rang out, echoing across the corridor. The bullet hit the handler right in the centre of the forehead and he collapsed, lifeless.

James spun around to see Clint still holding the gun James had dropped in his good arm, half-leaning against the wall. “Fucking asshole,” he muttered, and then slowly collapsed back down to the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything hurt. Clint’s shoulder was the major thing, screaming out with an agony that he was trying not to think about too much, because a shoulder injury could end an archery career. His ribs were throbbing as well and he was pretty sure more than one was broken.

All of that felt secondary to the aching feeling in his chest as he stared at the corpse of the man he’d killed.

God, he’d killed someone.

Someone who had been fighting his soulmate, who had been part of torturing him for years and who wanted to drag both of them back to that. Someone who’d been saying words that made James go white and terrified.

But still a person who had been alive moments ago but was dead now, because of Clint.

Shit, was he going to have to get some kinda therapy after this?

“You’re hurt,” James said, hovering awkwardly as if not sure what to do now the fight was over.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “Any idea where the way out is?”

James glanced at the end of the corridor as Natasha appeared around it, a gun clutched in her hand. She still looked disturbingly put together, given the brutal sounds of fighting Clint had been dimly aware of from her location.

“It’s not far,” she said, and gave him a once over that almost certainly saw too much. “Can you walk?”

Clint considered that. He was pretty sure that once he got his feet under him he’d be able to stagger for a bit but with his ribs and shoulder, he wasn’t sure he could make it upright on his own.

“Gonna need a hand up,” he said, and looked at James.

James hesitated weirdly, then tucked the knife in his hand away so he could step forward. Rather than just offer Clint a hand, he crouched and scooped him up in his arms, lifting him gently up until he was able to stand.

“Come on, then,” said Natasha. “Before more of them turn up.”

Clint followed after her with James hovering at his side, not touching but clearly close enough to catch Clint if he went down. Clint tried to feel irritated by that but the truth was it was probably a good idea when he was this fucked up.

“He took my scarf,” he said to James as they walked. “Not even had it a week, and the fucker took it.”

James’s jaw clenched but he didn’t say anything. Clint wanted to reach out for him but it didn’t feel like it would be welcome, not when James looked so tense and brittle.

The base’s exit really was close, which was a relief. Outside was bright lights and layers of sound, voices and engines and the occasional siren. There were police cars pulled up and officers milling around, clearly not sure what the hell they should be doing, and Natasha stepped forward to talk to them. Clint glanced around and spotted an ambulance, then looked back for James to let him know that was where he was headed.

James had disappeared. Clint just blinked at the empty space where he should have been in disbelief.

Why the fuck would Clint’s soulmate fuck off right now, when he was hurt?

There was a thump and Falcon landed next to him. “Hey man,” he said. “You look like you need help.”

Clint blinked at him, then sighed. “Of fucking course,” he said. “Sam.”

Sam just shrugged. “Sorry. Secret identity.”

Clint glared at him. “You’re going to get me over to that ambulance where I’m really hoping they have the good drugs, and later we’re going to all have a chat about why that is a shitty excuse.”

“Sure thing,” said Sam, gently putting an arm around Clint’s waist to support him. “Just want to point out that I’m only a part-time superhero, not like Nat and Steve. You should probably save all your anger for them.”

Clint snorted as he started to stumble for the ambulance. “You’re not getting out of this one with that kinda lame excuse.”

“Okay,” said Sam, “well, how about that having secret superhero friends really turns out to be useful when your soulmate is the Winter Soldier?”

Clint didn’t reply to that, because he didn’t want to think too carefully about how he’d made friends with Natasha and then, by extension, Steve and Sam, _after_ he’d started making his soulmate preparations. He didn’t want to think that he’d only become friends with them because fate or whatever worked out this shit knew he’d need some fighters on his side, as well as spare ammo for James and extra locks on his door.

The EMTs wanted to take Clint straight off to the hospital but he insisted on waiting for a bit. James had to come back, right? He wouldn’t just walk away and leave Clint without a word, even if he had decided that a soulmate was a liability he couldn’t afford.

Captain America -Steve- came out of the base a while later, looking pissed, and stalked over to Natasha, and then the police started to head into the base, bringing out handcuffed Hydra agents in various levels of dazedness. 

“We really do need to get you to a hospital,” said the EMT.

Clint scowled and glanced around one last time, which was when he caught sight of James. He was at the edge of the parking lot, hidden in the shadows under a tree and staring at Clint. Clint raised his hand to gesture him closer but James didn’t move. He just stared for a moment longer, looking so completely expressionless he might as well have been carved out of stone, and then disappeared into the dark.

Clint drew in a deep breath, then regretted it when his ribs shrieked with pain. Was that it? Was that all he was getting from his soulmate?

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said tiredly, and let the EMTs bundle him into the ambulance. It seemed there was nothing worth sticking around for.

****

It was far too easy to track the ambulance that took Clint away, and even easier to sneak into the hospital after him. James couldn’t leave him that unprotected, regardless of how much his mind was yelling at him to leave.

He’d stay long enough to make sure Clint was safe and that the Avengers were putting measures into place to keep him safe, and then he’d go.

There was no way he could stay for longer. Not after Clint had seen who he truly was and all the horrors that came with that. Not after he’d been kidnapped and hurt because of James, and knew exactly how much danger he was in. 

Not after he’d been forced to kill a man to protect James.

Clint was put in a room on the first floor and surrounded by medical professionals. There was nowhere for James to linger close-by, not with the place getting steadily busier as the day began. Instead he went back outside and found a tree he could climb that had a good view of Clint’s window, and sat there watching, hidden by the leaves.

It had only been one night. It seemed insane that it hadn’t been weeks or months since James had watched the van speed away with Clint inside.

An hour passed. James stayed exactly where he was, watching the bustling figures of nurses and the occasional doctor. He couldn’t see Clint himself from his position, but it was enough to see the movement circling around him and to know he was there, right at the centre of it. 

Clint’s bed got wheeled away at one point, presumably for x-rays or something similar, and James fought indecision on whether he should wait for him to return or go back inside the building to chase after him. In the end, the busyness of the parking lot kept him in place. He was all too aware that running around in public wearing tactical gear and slung with weapons was not the best way to stay under the radar.

And he had to stay under the radar. He needed everyone: Hydra, SHIELD and the Avengers, to think he’d disappeared, that he’d run away from his soulmate. Once he got away, he’d make sure to get spotted half the world away so they’d all know that Clint wasn’t a path to him any more, and then he’d hide away where no one would ever find him, and stay there until everyone had forgotten about him.

Or until he died.

Clint’s bed came back after about twenty minutes and he was briefly left alone, then there was another wave of medical staff. James watched them from his perch, wondering just how badly hurt Clint was and how long it would take him to recover.

How much pain had it cost him to be James’s soulmate?

Eventually Clint was left alone again and this time the door was shut, presumably so he could rest. James carried on watching the empty window even after there was nothing to see. He was tired after a long night of fear and the exertion of storming the base, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that Clint was alone in a hospital with no guard.

When the door of Clint’s room opened and a small black figure crept in, he jerked and pulled out his gun before he recognised it as Black Widow.

Good, at least someone was looking out for Clint.

She stayed by the door for a minute, clearly talking, then moved over to the bed and sat down.

James wondered if she’d taken Clint’s hand. If he were in her place, he’d take Clint’s hand and kiss his forehead and gently stroke his hair, and anything else that Clint would allow him to do.

Except Clint wouldn’t allow any of it, most likely. Not when his injuries were James’s fault.

A few minutes later the door opened again and this time Captain American and Falcon entered. They’d changed out of their combat outfits but it was easy to recognise them. They stayed standing, but James could see from their faces and hand movements that they were talking. They looked serious, and then Captain America smiled and-

And James remembered that smile. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing back the memories flashing through his mind without context. Now he wasn’t focused completely on getting Clint back, all the memories that seeing Captain America’s face had made rise up were escaping his control, bursting back into his head.

Steve. He was Steve. He smiled like that when he was deeply relieved, and he ran his hand over his hair when he was tired but happy, and he threw his head back when he laughed, and he used to be smaller and younger and James had known him then, known him when he was nothing but an angry boy losing a fight in an alleyway.

He was part of the first life Hydra had taken from him, just like Clint was part of the second one, the one he’d only had a weekend to glimpse before it was ripped away.

Steve and Falcon didn’t stay long. Black Widow stayed behind as they left and James was relieved that they hadn’t left Clint alone so that he had a more immediate guard than James, trapped out here in the parking lot. 

And then Steve came strolling around the corner of the building and James’s attention was torn away from Clint’s room as Steve walked right up to the tree James should have been well hidden in, and paused at the foot of it.

“He’s all patched up and they’re sending him home,” he said. “Sam’s getting a car.”

For a long moment James thought about just staying silent and pretending not to be there, but his desire to hear more about Clint won out.

“He’s hurt. He shouldn’t be alone.”

“We’re going to take it in turns to look after him,” said Steve. “Unless you want to do it, of course. He was asking if we’d seen you.”

James held himself very still and didn’t say anything, because he had no idea how to react to that.

“I didn’t tell him you were hiding out here,” added Steve after a moment, “because I was worried he’d insist on getting up and coming out to find you.”

“No,” said James, immediately and instinctively. “He shouldn't- No. He should stay away from me. I’m dangerous. I need to keep away from him.”

“Bucky,” said Steve softly. “You’re his soulmate.”

Tears sprung into James’s eyes and he had to breathe for a moment, blinking them back. “He deserves better.”

Steve snorted with amusement. “No, I think you’re exactly what he deserves. You were always so good at looking out for me when I was sick, you’ll be great at looking after him too.”

“I don’t remember that,” said James, then shook his head as memories surfaced in his mind to prove him wrong. “I’m not Bucky any more. All I do now is hurt people.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Steve. “I think maybe you’re not the same guy any more, but neither am I. Give yourself a chance.” He hesitated and then added, in a low voice, “Give me a chance. I thought you were dead, please let me get to know who you are now.”

James glanced up at Clint’s room again. Falcon was back in the room along with a nurse with a wheelchair. For a few, precious seconds James got to see Clint as he moved from the bed to the chair, bending slowly and carefully, and then he was wheeled out of the room.

He looked so fragile and pained, covered in dark bruises and wearing a sling. James’s heart ached to look at him and knew that he wouldn’t be able to walk away anywhere nearly as easily as he’d been intending to. The very fact that he was in this tree should have told him that.

He sighed and then jumped down from the tree, landing in front of Steve, who grinned at him with far more happiness than James thought should be aimed at him. “What are his injuries?”

“Broken ribs,” said Steve. “Dislocated shoulder. Some bad bruising. Nothing that won’t heal.”

Clint’s shoulder. James thought about the way Clint’s eyes had lit up as he’d told James about his job teaching archery, about the impressive strength and flexibility of his shoulder muscles and what it said about how he spent his time. “Will he be able to draw a bow again?”

“Doctor thinks so,” said Steve. “He needs to rest for a couple of months, but he should be right back to work after that.”

James let out a breath of relief. At least Hydra hadn’t taken that.

They’d taken plenty of other things from Clint though, and all because of James.

“How can he forgive me for getting him hurt like that?”

“That wasn’t you,” said Steve, and carefully reached out to touch James’s shoulder. “He knows that wasn’t you. No one’s going to blame you for what Hydra did.”

“They should,” said James. “I’ve done things, Steve, horrible things-”

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “They did those things, they just used you to do them.”

“It was my hands,” said James, in a hoarse voice.

“No one’s going to blame you,” Steve repeated. “And especially not Clint. He just wants his soulmate with him.”

James couldn’t imagine how anyone could want him, not like that, and especially not someone as perfect as Clint. He opened his mouth to say as much, and Steve gave his shoulder a shake.

“If you run away now, you’re going to let him down,” he said. “If we’re talking about what people do and don’t deserve, then I reckon there’s no way Clint deserves that.”

There was a buzz and Steve made a face and pulled his phone out, glancing at it before sighing. “They’re ready to leave,” he said. “I need to go or I’ll have to walk back. Are you coming with us?”

James shook his head without even thinking about it. “Not like this,” he said, stepping back so Steve’s hand fell off his shoulder. Hydra were still out there, and they were still a threat to Clint. He couldn’t go near him until at least that had changed.

“Okay,” said Steve, and it sounded very difficult for him to say. “Okay, Bucky. But I’ll see you later, yeah?”

There was a tremor to his voice that made James think of the shorter version of him wearing a too-large black suit and standing at the side of a grave. The memory sent a wash of grief over James and he had to push it back to focus on the moment. It felt like there was so much to delve into any time Steve was nearby, but he was all too aware that once he dived into those emotions and memories, it would be all he could think about for a while, and right now Clint needed to come first.

James took a deep breath and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay Stevie. Later.”

And then he turned and left, before he could make any other stupid promises. If the others were going to be looking after Clint for a bit, then James could afford to find somewhere to hide out for a while, so he could rest and rethink his plans. Just walking away from Clint was clearly not going to be an option.

****

Clint had been injured plenty of times before. He’d had cracked ribs and covered himself in bruises and, okay, maybe the dislocated shoulder was new but still. He knew how to take care of himself.

What he didn’t know how to handle was a stream of guilty superheroes coming by to ‘look after him’. Especially as Sam was the only one who was actually any good at it. 

Natasha mostly just sat and watched him struggle with whatever he needed to do and then, when he finally broke down enough to ask for help, raised an eyebrow and said things like, “You will never get strong if you pretend to be weak.”

Steve would have been okay, although maybe a bit too helpful, except that the whole time he was at Clint’s he was either asking questions about James or visibly biting his tongue to avoid asking questions about James.

On top of everything else Clint was trying to process (being kidnapped, his injuries, the true horror of what his soulmate had lived through, the fact that all his friends were secretly superheroes and one of them was nearly a hundred years old) the fact that Steve and James had been childhood best friends was just a layer Clint didn’t have the capacity to deal with just then. Maybe not ever.

Especially not if he never saw James again, and that was beginning to feel very likely as time passed and James didn’t reappear from wherever he’d disappeared to after blowing the Hydra base up.

“He’ll turn up,” said Steve, with far more confidence than Clint felt was warranted. “He won’t leave someone he cares about.”

Clint shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “It’s not like he really knows me,” he pointed out, running over the arguments that had spun through his head a hundred times. 

James had only known Clint for a weekend, and he’d immediately proved to be a weak spot for him. Why would he come back when they both knew that whatever remnants of Hydra were around knew exactly where Clint lived and were likely watching him for signs of James turning back up? The only reason Clint was safe here was that, in addition to having Avengers around pretty much all the time, there were at least three SHIELD agents watching the place at any given time. He didn’t think they could trust that to keep Hydra away if James was there as well.

“You’re soulmates,” said Steve with great confidence. “You don’t need to spend years together to know who each other is. He already cares for you, I promise, Clint. He’ll come back.”

Clint just shrugged his shoulder again and turned his attention back to the TV, like he was able to concentrate on a movie when he had no idea where James was, or what he was thinking.

The movie was pretty much at the end and Clint was starting to drift off to sleep on the sofa, which kept happening with the pills that the doctor had given him and the others insisted on him taking, when Steve’s phone made an obnoxiously loud alarm sound and the TV flashed with a _Breaking News_ alert at pretty much the same time.

Steve pulled his phone out and moved away to answer the call and Clint stared blankly at the scenes of gunfire and explosions being captured from a news helicopter. 

“Okay, I have to go,” said Steve once he’d hung up, and Clint just nodded.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Steve grabbed his coat, pulling it on, then glanced at Clint with a frown. “Don’t let anyone in. If you stay inside, you should be okay.”

“Sure,” said Clint, because he was half-asleep and most of his body ached with injuries, so even getting off the couch seemed like too much hassle. “Just gonna sit here and watch the news. You go save….whatever that building is.”

“SHIELD headquarters,” said Steve grimly, and left.

Not long after, a helicopter came over and hovered above the building for a few minutes, and Clint tried not to think about his friend being airlifted from the roof in order to go fight terrorists. It felt like too much to try and put together right now, so instead he flicked channels until he found one that wasn’t showing the news, and settled in to watch cartoons for a bit.

He fell asleep and when he woke up it was dark. He found himself instinctively looking for James, even though he knew he wasn’t going to be there. Despite barely even having a weekend to get used to him being around, Clint did that every time he woke up now. He wondered if he’d be looking for James for the rest of his life, and then carefully shelved that thought as too depressing to be dealt with.

He groaned to himself, tried to sit up, and then groaned again louder as a sharp shot of pain ran through his ribs. Right, moving had to be a slow and cautious thing right now. He glanced at the TV, then flicked back across to the news.

It looked like whatever had been going on was over. The building was smoking and Clint could see a fair few broken windows, but there was a crowd of police at the entrance taking charge of a handful of handcuffed agents. Clint spotted Steve with Sam at his shoulder, talking to someone who looked important. He looked grim but calm, so Clint decided that he didn’t need to try and work out what was happening from the news when he could just ask whoever came over to fuss at him next and get all the details.

He glanced at the time and winced at how long he’d slept, then carefully sat up, stretching the very few parts of his body that were okay with that. He was past time for his pills, but he wasn’t really meant to take them without food.

Since he’d left the hospital the others had been making his meals for him, which meant he’d eaten a lot of healthy, nourishing food. If he were finally getting a chance to make his own choices, then he knew exactly what he was getting, and screw worrying about vitamins or whatever.

When Paulo at his favourite pizza place picked up the phone, Clint barely had to say, “Hey, it’s Clint Barton,” to get a gush of enthusiasm.

“Clint! We were worried about you, you’ve not called in a few days,” said Paulo. “We were talking about maybe sending one of the boys over to check on you, I’m glad to hear that won’t be necessary. I’ll get your usual sent right over.”

“That’s great,” said Clint, oddly touched, and then wondered just what effect it would have on their profit margins if he stopped buying pizza from them. “I’m okay, just got in a bit of an accident and needed to heal up.”

“Oh no!” said Paulo. “I’m so sorry to hear it. I’ll send over some tiramisu, on the house, that should get you fixed up.”

“Thanks,” said Clint. “You’re the best.”

“The least I can do for my favourite customer,” said Paulo, and hung up.

Clint made himself stand up so he wouldn’t have to try and get upright when the pizza arrived, then went to the kitchen and drank some water so at least he could tell his worrywart friends that he’d hydrated.

When the bell rang he tried to straighten up and look less battered as he went to open it and then wondering if he shouldn’t be playing up his injuries instead, if they were going to get him free tiramisu.

Steve had locked up behind himself, all three of the over-the-top locks that Clint now had, so he called through the door as he fumbled with the keys. “One moment, be with you in a sec, please don’t take the pizza away, I will probably cry.”

When he got the door open though, it wasn’t either of the delivery guys Paulo employed.

It was James.

He was wearing dark skinny jeans, a blue button-up that matched his eyes and a leather jacket that made him look entirely too fuckable. His hair looked washed and brushed in a way Clint hadn’t really been able to imagine from the hobo chic look he’d sported the rest of the time they’d known each other. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over, but the moment he saw Clint the frown cleared off his face. He ran his eyes down over Clint’s body while Clint just stared at him, taking in the sling before riveting back on Clint’s face.

“Hi,” he said, awkwardly.

“James,” said Clint, and swung the door open wide. “Shit, come in. I didn’t- Fuck, I’m so glad you’re here.”

James came inside and Clint shut the door behind him, then couldn’t resist giving him an awkward, one-armed hug that James returned very carefully, clearly trying to avoid putting any pressure on Clint’s injuries.

“Shit,” said Clint, and felt all the fear and misery he’d been trying to ignore rush up into his chest. “Shit, James, I didn’t think you’d come back.”

James didn't let go of him, pressing his forehead against Clint’s uninjured shoulder for a moment. “I didn’t mean to,” he confessed, quietly. “I’ll go the second you ask me to, I get if you don’t want me around after you got hurt like that, after everything they did to you. I just had to see you again first.”

“Oh fuck no,” said Clint, tightening his grip and then wincing and slackening it when his ribs complained. “No way, I’m never gonna want you gone.”

James pulled away, leaving his hands resting on Clint’s waist. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “If I’d known they could find me, I’d never have put you at risk.”

“Shit,” remembered Clint, “they were tracking you, that asshole said they’d tagged you. You need to-”

“It’s okay,” said James, “I found it. It was in my arm and I was able to get it out. And besides, that asshole isn’t going to be able to come after us again. I put a bullet in his head.”

Clint blinked at him. “You did?”

James gave him a darkly smug grin. “I took them all out,” he said. “I hunted through the halls of SHIELD until it was clear of Hydra. You’re safe now, I promise. They won’t come after you again.”

“The fight today,” Clint realised, and glanced at the TV, which was still showing shots of the clear-up. “That was you. Steve and the others are there.”

“Yeah,” said James, “I saw them there. Left enough clues for them to clear the rest of it out, and then came here. I, uh. I wanted to make sure you got this back.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar piece of purple wool.

“My scarf!” said Clint happily. “I thought I’d lost it.”

“I got it back for you,” said James and then, carefully, hesitantly, he wrapped it around Clint’s neck. He looked as if he were expecting to be stopped at any moment, but Clint had no intention of ever stopping him doing anything.

Once it was settled in place where it belonged, Clint reached out and took James’s hand and then couldn’t resist kissing the back of it. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

James looked as if he were about to cry, which was fair because Clint didn’t feel so very far off from it either. He blamed the painkillers.

“I don’t get how you can say that,” said James. “You saw what I am, what they made me. The guy whose soulmate stockpiles bullets because he’s nothing but a weapon.”

“Oh no, hey, definitely not,” said Clint, running a hand over James’s cheek and then through his soft hair. Fuck, that was so strokable. “You’re not a weapon, you’re so much more than that. Those bullets and knives and things, they were so you could protect me. It was all just so you could protect me, protect both of us. A shield, not a weapon.”

It was only as he said it that he realised how true it was. Clint had been scared that his soulmate was going to be violent like his dad and his brother had been, but James wasn’t like that at all. None of his violence was for hurting people, not now he’d get free of Hydra, it was for keeping them safe. Keeping Clint safe.

“I don’t give a shit what they thought you were, I know exactly who you are. You’re the man who stopped Hydra from having me. The man I want to stay here with me.”

“Clint,” said James softly, emotion heavy in his voice, then he leaned in and carefully touched their lips together, and Clint very nearly cheered because, _fuck_ , finally. He sunk his hand into James’s hair and pulled him closer for another, longer kiss, slowly deepening it as James showed no signs of wanting to pull away.

And then the bell rang again and James started back, pulling a knife out.

Clint sighed. “That’ll be the pizza,” he said. “Perfect fucking timing.”

James answered the door, keeping the knife out of sight but not putting it down which Clint felt was probably justified, given everything. Clint definitely wasn’t going to be telling him he was too paranoid any time soon, not after being snatched off the street like this was a Stranger Danger after-school special.

“Any chance we could skip the pizza and go back to the kissing?” he asked once James had shut the door and then locked all the locks.

“You’re hurt, you need food,” said James, which had been what Clint had been afraid of. “Really, you need better food than pizza-”

“Oh no,” said Clint. “No way, I’ve had enough healthy nutrition from the others, I am eating my weight in greasy fat, thank you very much.”

“Okay,” said James, “then we’re gonna wrap ourselves in blankets, eat pizza, and maybe after that we can make out some more. Carefully.”

Clint grinned at him. “Sounds perfect. And, hey, I don’t have to go back to work for a couple of months while I heal, so we can spend weeks and weeks making out on the couch.”

James hesitated and for a horrible moment Clint thought he was going to say he couldn’t stay, then he gently rubbed his thumb over Clint’s cheek. “I like that idea,” he said. “We might even try, perhaps, making out in bed as well.”

“Oh yeah,” said Clint, beaming with joy, “maybe even more,” he added and winked at him.

“Not until you are properly healed,” said James, looking at Clint’s sling again. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

Ah crap. Just as Clint had escaped from Captain Motherhen and his crew.

James leaned back in and kissed Clint again, and Clint gladly wrapped his good arm around his shoulders to hold him close.

Fuck it, he could take being mollycoddled if it came with getting to kiss his soulmate. After all, he’d waited long enough for it.


End file.
